


If You're Going Through Hell...

by doreah



Category: Episodes (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Canon Bisexual Character, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Exes, Explicit Language, F/F, Missing Scene, POV Lesbian Character, Post-Canon, Retcon, Single POV, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-22 18:00:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13769532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: Maybe Carol wasn't really as fragile and neurotic as they all believed. Maybe Helen wasn't as horrible and damaged as her shrink thought. Maybe they both needed a little bit of credit.





	1. “Did you see the video?”

**Author's Note:**

> Again, I retconned the pregnancy subplot cos I hate it. Also, Episodes has a weird issue with canon timeline continuity so I've kinda just made up my own that actually makes better sense. Sorry if this seems more miserable/dramatic than an Episodes fic should be but I wanted to make Helen suffer/show the fallout of S4 on her side cos I think the show really dropped the ball there too other than dropping a few hints in the finale. We got Carol being a depressed mess and she didn't deserve that so I like to think Helen suffered too. It's only fair--otherwise the finale doesn't make sense.

There was that quote she'd often read on cheesy fridge magnets about how you just have to keep going if you're going through hell. It was always accompanied by, like, a sunset, or a flower, or a serene forest path, or a kitten hanging onto a branch. Something insipid anyway. That shit never sat well with her. Was that kitten really going through hell? Really? It was just a fucking branch probably a foot off the ground. What about that flower? And a sunset? Seriously, what did a setting sun behind a beautiful mountain range have to do with hell?

None of those things came even close to describing what she was feeling at this particular moment in time. Granted, the whole inspiration for the quote should have been helpful. But really, it was pretty fucking obvious. Like other than killing yourself—or somebody else—what choice did you honestly have than to just keep going? Stupid fucking fridge magnets.

So, as Helen Basch strode into her shitty office on yet another shitty smog-heavy morning after another shitty night's sleep, she gripped at her forehead, trying to suppress the building headache by sheer force of will alone. How many days had it been? Probably weeks. Months? It felt like it had been literal months in which every day seemed to be one continuous piece of shit and every night was a fucking mess.

Of course there were bright spots. Ratings. Good ratings were nice. Her new shows doing well and bringing in lots of praise (but more importantly, ad revenue) had a smug sort of joy to it. Even if one of those required her speaking fairly frequently to that walking cucumber dildo Merc Lapidus. However, Elliot Salad not breathing down her neck at every turn anymore was a particularly enjoyable bonus. Everything was basically... smooth fucking sailing. On the business side of things, anyway.

Except having to deal with closeted lesbian-haircut homewrecker Beverly Lincoln, but even then, stabbing their stupid show using imbecilic Tim Whittick's dick made it slightly more bearable that she'd come in second place to a woman who, for all intents and purposes, was nothing more than a skinny hedgehog with a funny accent and no writing talent. God, she hated that snotty English bitch. And Tim was precisely the perfect blend of terrible at his job and annoying as fuck to torture the Lincolns, indefinitely. Ha. Like hell she was going to cancel _Opposites_ now. She'd drag it to her fucking grave and fuck Elliot, fuck Beverly, and fuck the network.

It was really amazing how far she was willing to destroy herself and the legacy of her career all because of an ex-girlfriend. Yeah, she was fucking pissed and would forever loathe Merc for the swastika tattoo thing but Carol and Beverly? Oh, that would be her ultimate revenge achievement. It was too bad Carol wasn't around anymore to suffer in person for her massive indiscretions.

She waved absently to Patti and ignored the stack of papers that presumably required her signature.

 _Indiscretions, Helen? Seriously?_ She did something a little bit more than some idiotic tiny little indiscretion. Ugh. Gross. Fucking another woman behind her back, on an on-going basis right under her fucking nose, was worth a tougher, uglier word than that. But the pounding in her head as she unlocked her office door overwhelmed any current need to internally chastise her ex-girlfriend.

And so the day began. Again. Same as the last. Same as the one before it, and before that. Only today her headache would definitely hit migraine status before 11 AM. That was new at least.

 

* * *

 

 

 _That fucking moron_. When her phone had lit up in the middle of the night, she ignored it and rolled over in her guestroom's queen-sized bed. It probably kept lighting up for the next 4 hours but she had squeezed her eyes closed and wilfully pushed any desire to check it from her head. Instead, she visualized all the ways she could make Beverly Lincoln cry but each time her thoughts ran away with her and she was back to imagining what it would be like to see Carol again. No, it was not even close to healthy to be this preoccupied with a relationship that ended over a month ago but sleepless nights and stressful days did very little to distract her from the bullshit swirling around angrily in her brain.

 She ignored her stupid phone in the early morning too. Nothing could possibly be that important. If it was some emergency with her kids, they'd have called the land line. (Yes, she was Gen X. They still believed in things like wires.) Plus, she wasn't a cave-woman. She had a special ring for her kids and they were set to priority.

 She'd barely sat down at her desk in the morning when Patti asked her the question that no executive who has Matt Leblanc on the payroll wants to hear: “Did you see the video?”

 A sinking feeling landed heavily in her abdomen and if it was possible, she cloud literally feel her blood pressure spike. She'd only just clicked on her inbox to see it flooded with messages from all levels of the company, and a few colleagues from other networks. Most of the subject lines were some form of “Oh my god!”

 That was never, ever a good sign. The words “Matt Leblanc” also seemed to appear a little more often than usual and there was that uncomfortable, churning dread in her stomach as she picked up her phone and saw so many of the texts were links to his now infamous video. Just fucking great.

 Andy Button, the office gossip puppy, bounced into her office just as she was finishing her second viewing of the disgusting late night display. She was going to kill Matt. Actually, no first she'd kill Merc. Then Matt. Then the hot one in the box. Then the retard that put it all on the air. All of them were going to die within the next 3 hours. Because she sure as shit wasn't going to take the blame for this massive fuck up. She didn't pull out Leblanc's uncontrollable dick and rabidly jerk it all over that box just because some hot girl took her panties off. Jesus Christ, it was a goddamn mess.

 Literally.

 And figuratively.

 Andy was babbling about it, clearly full of nothing but barely-contained glee as she checked out how bad it really was. Yeah, it was all over the fucking internet already.

 It was at about that precise moment that her crappy day turned into a shitstorm of such epic proportions she'd never imagined at work.

 Sponsors began dropping like terrified flies; her phone would not fucking shut up; lawyers were sending her scary sounding documents every two seconds; everyone from legal to New York to heads of departments were on her case like she personally pushed the jizz out of Leblanc with two gloved fingers, and nobody she actually needed would return her fucking calls.

 Near the end of probably the worst day of her entire professional life, with no food, too much coffee and her voice going hoarse from screaming at idiots on the phone constantly, she looked up from yet another vaguely threatening email from the FCC. Andy and Myra had their noses glued to their phones, following all the hot news as it happened, and Lily was pacing and out of her office like a cat with its tail on fire. Her office phone rang, again, with Patti's voice breaking through to announce it was yet another advertising rep with some annoying complaint about brand killing and her inbox beeped with an alert to what was bound to be documentation of the same thing.

 “Holy shit. Where the hell is Carol when I need her?”

 Andy's head snapped up to focus at her and it was only after she felt his stare on her did she realize that she'd even said that out loud. Did she even mean it? Probably. She'd have to be a crazy person not to understand that having someone of Carol's experience and expertise next to her—rather than Tweedledee and Tweedledum over there—would be invaluable. Sure, she was a lying, cheating bitch but dammit, she was brilliant at her job. But... Nobody here needed to know that she, Helen fucking Basch, couldn't handle this bullshit all by herself and she immediately regretted ever letting those words escape.

 Well, obviously, she was handling it alone. But the fact was, deep down, even in that part of her brain that was full of anger and especially in the part of heart that still ached when she woke up in an empty bed at 2 AM, she would have given anything at that moment to have Carol in her office instead of Andy and Myra. They'd field the idiots as a team, answer emails like some sort of Olympic relay race, and basically be there to juggle the bullshit with the solutions to the bullshit.

 And then she could fuck right off again.

 Yeah, that'd be pretty perfect.

 Andy's eyebrow was raised and she knew the simple thoughts that were swirling around amongst the DWTS contestant bios and gluten-free dog biscuit recipes crowding the space.

 “Shut up,” she muttered and turned back down to her laptop screen.

 Yeah, yeah, yeah. Everyone knew why Carol wasn't there and she didn't need a goddamn reminder.

 After work, she went directly home, ran the hottest bath known to man, and submerged herself until the burning pain overwhelmed the shitty, stressed out feelings inside her and suppressed her nagging thoughts about Carol, about missing Carol, about seeing Carol, about what it would be like to have Carol in her office again.

 It seemed to do the trick... Thoughts of Elliot Salad yelling at her over the phone dissipated. Merc Lapidus' arrogant suggestions faded from memory. The faces of her incompetent underlings disappeared and their cloying fake and panicked voices no longer rang in her ears. The constant buzz from Patti's intercom dulled to a muted snore. She no longer saw the evil boldface of unread emails behind her eyelids every time she blinked. Every fucked up, crappy thing just melted into the hot water.

 Following that, however, she was completely and utterly fucked. It was practically 10 minutes to the second of peace. As she stepped out of the tub, grumbling to herself about her own failings, she quickly swiped the towel over her body and stomped into her bedroom. Carol fucking Rance. A hard yank opened a beside table and her bright blue vibrator looked up at her in all its smug mockery.

  _Fuck you, you stupid plastic bunny. Fuck you too, Carol._

 

 


	2. "Dodged a bullet there, clearly.”

There was nothing other than pure dread that followed Helen as she dragged her feet into the office the following morning. Not only had she slept like shit (again)—if you could even call it sleep—but she had no appetite and felt completely drained of all motivation. This lack of sleep thing was really pulling down her productivity.

 And the overnights came in with a subtle ding in her inbox. Okay. So not everything was pure shit. Suddenly her mood perked up and a smile broke out over her face and that may actually be the first one to grace her with its presence in days. Literally days. Maybe this was the turning point? Maybe all her life needed was Matt Leblanc masturbating all over a contestant on live TV for it turn take a positive move up.

 Any moment she knew there would be a buzz of the intercom and, yep, there it was. She knew already who would be on the other end.

 Today was going to be a very, very, _very_ good day. Fucking _finally_. And look at that, she didn't actually need Carol after all.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week went just as swimmingly and she managed to quash that ugly, sinking feeling that would cause her stomach to flip-flop every morning on the ride up on the elevator. It was nothing short of a brazen relief to be able to hold her head high on her way in, and it had the added bonus of feeling slightly more alert in the AM. The amazing thing was that Carol and that clusterfuck of assholery very rarely popped into her head, well, in the daylight hours anyway unless there was a meeting with the troubled _Opposites_ team. That was probably at least one part of the reason she felt lighter and calmer at work. It had taken over a month but she smiled more often, didn't fixate on anger, and yeah, she was over it. She was over Carol.

 Okay. Sure, she still wasn't sleeping well at all and had taken to running into the big guestroom at night instead of her own bed. She went out more often to bars and yoga and the gym and took up a Spanish course at the California Language Academy. Anything to keep her busy and out of the house because it was empty and quiet and felt like a place where she wasn't entirely welcome. It was certainly an uncomfortable feeling to get in your own home. She'd occasionally go home with someone from the bar just to avoid the echo of only her footsteps in her house. Sometimes she'd bring them back to hers but it only made the issue worse because not only did she feel awkward, but it gave off a vibe that the other person wasn't right. They weren't the person that was supposed to be there. (She knew who that person was but like hell she'd let herself recognize that outright.) Nobody felt right.

 But her skin was clearing up, her hair became a bit shinier, her appetite was healthy again and the urge to pour an entire bottle of vodka into her coffee each morning just to get through the day had massively subsided.

 For the most part, she could confidently claim that she was finally over Carol Rance and damn, did it feel fucking great. Back on her feet and in the driver's seat of the network, there was a sense of respite from the trying months of torment. Even the weather lifted from the oppressive, thick smog as summer breezes began to journey through the city. Positivity was literally in the air.

 As Helen wandered back towards her office after yet another productive meeting with the senior finance team where the budgets looked good and her concerns were momentarily allayed, Patti handed her a note. Elliot Salad was in town and looking to do lunch at Vincente. It was probably to applaud her for her handing of Leblanc's masturbatory adventure and for managing to retain most of the sponsors. (Kraft Mayonnaise was the first to jump back on the bandwagon and their new The Box-themed 20-second spot went viral on YouTube within minutes.) She asked her secretary to get back to his assistant with a time. Nothing was going to break her goddamn stride today.

 Except Carol.

  _Of course_ it had to be her.

 She'd barely had 20 minutes with Elliot and his disturbingly narcissistic complaints about his newest trophy wife when that stupid asshole showed her face clear as day at the window. And she'd just started on her salad and ordered one of their hard cider spritzes with extra lemon. God, she hadn't had one of those in ages. And then Carol had to be there, interrupting the very good day. Just there. Staring in the window like a freak.

 Dishevelled. Dirty. Dressed in a way no self-respecting person would ever be caught dead walking down Melrose. Doughnut on her face?

 After a brief second of disbelief, she really had to go, “Seriously?” In her head, obviously. Because, seriously? What the fuck? And then the idiot had the gall to just stand there, gawking at them like an ape before stumbling away. Was she drunk?

 Clearly her “job” at The CW was working out great.

 As the stunned silence wore off, Elliot speared his baked potato with a fork.

 “Was that—?”

 “Yup.”

 “Well, she looks like shit.” He chuckled to himself at the idea, grinning, and chewed loudly on his potato.

 Helen paused again, taking a bit of extra time. “Yeah.” She wasn't entirely comfortable with the tone he used and it bothered her immensely that she couldn't decide why. In all honesty, she probably did know exactly the reason it bothered her but coming to Carol's defence was no longer her responsibility. The blonde cheater had seen to that nice and soundly.

 “Have you spoken—?”

 “Nope.” _Please for the love of god stop asking me about Carol_.

 He paused for a moment, swirling the ice around in his scotch. “Where was it she said she was going?”

 Oh, for fuck's sake. This was not the sort of lunch she had planned on. She had wanted focus, and compliments, and business talk. Not having to see her ex-girlfriend whom she had only just got over and then field 3 dozen questions about her. Not to mention, she wasn't even sure how much Elliot knew about their relationship, if anything. Obviously, it was in her own best interest to keep him strictly in the dark as much as she could.

 “The CW. With Castor Sotto.” Her voice caught a little on the name, thick with memory. _Oh, yeah, he's dreamy_.

 That elicited a loud, prolonged guffaw from the CEO. “Oh, yeah. Right. That whackjob.” Everyone at their network all knew that there was no job for Carol Rance down the street, or for Castor for that matter.

 There was simmering anger growing under Helen's skin the longer this conversation continued, and the sight of Carol at the window had set off all sorts of distasteful fireworks in her brain, most of which centered on pure loathing. But then, there was a tiny part of her that felt an unfortunate tug thinking about how awful Carol seemed to be doing, how messed up, and knowing the precise reason for that lay solely on her shoulders. Nobody fucking needed to know that, especially Elliot. She clenched her trembling hands around her knife and fork like they were long, shiny stressballs.

  _Suck it up, Helen. Fuck her. She brought it on herself._

 Yeah, mmm, that was nice. The familiar burn of rage started rumbling in her chest again, desperate to replace any softness and weakness.

 “What a dumb move.” He munched on a bite of rare steak, looking off to the ceiling for a moment before focusing on her again. “You know I actually offered her your job? Before. Way before. Dodged a bullet there, clearly.”

 Helen knew. Carol had told her absently and out of nowhere one night almost two weeks into their fledgling relationship, as they were sitting on her sofa, sharing a blanket, and watching their network's latest terrible offering in the reality-food-competition-meets-CSI-Miami incarnation of doom. The popcorn was down to those gross little burnt nubs and the unpopped kernels that Carol insisted on crunching loudly between her teeth.

 She'd even told Helen the nutty reason why she turned it down. It had been one of those moments where Helen was granted a glimpse of the real Carol, not the woman who was just trying to please someone else. Of course, she'd seen authentic Carol numerous times—it was hard to be fake when in the middle of a mind-blowing orgasm (and Helen knew what a faked orgasm felt like, looked like, and sounded like). It was hard to be fake in the shivering aftermath too. It was also hard to be fake first thing in the morning, or when you wake up in the middle of the night and are not quite sure where you even are.

 But it was different. This was sober, calm, delicate, spontaneous, and nonchalant. Many things that Carol was incredibly careful not to be on a regular basis. It was all the shit she covered up with anxiety and neuroses and forced laughter. Helen remembers sitting there in silence for a few moments after the revelation of the ridiculously stupid career-killing move, and just watching the woman munch on those damned kernels before telling her, “I hope you never do something that insanely idiotic on my behalf.”

 Carol had shrugged then, making that scrunched up face she did, and glanced over at her only for a quick second before making a non-committal “Meh.” Then she crunched down loudly on a kernel, gaze focused on the TV screen again.

 It was at exactly that tiny moment that Helen had felt her legs give out into a long tumble, and she landed heavily face-down on the ground. Metaphorically, of course. She knew immediately that it had only been a week and a bit so it was really fucking soon, but she'd done it. She'd fallen. Hard. Really fucking hard.

 Okay, it was good _that_ was over with now.

 Too bad just seeing her horrible face had dredged up that particular moment, along with its very distracting, conflicting feelings. But, yeah, she had fallen out of love just as painfully as into it and then just as it had finally subsided, wham! Shoved right back in her face again, in front of Elliot Salad no less so instead of screaming or scowling or smashing her drink against the wall, she had to swallow every single one of those stinging nasty little feelings and pretend as if 2 months ago she hadn't been head over heels in love with that woman who had just gone running off in the other direction.

 “Yeah, I think I heard about that,” Helen finally admitted, quietly, carefully and stared at the pea sprouts on her fork, willing her throat to stop doing that choking, vomitty thing.

 Elliot chucked to himself again, and again. How much scotch had he already had? “You know, she asked me for the job back but I'd already decided to offer it to you.”

  _Please. Fucking. Stop._ She didn't want to hear about Carol anymore. She wanted the whole thing out of her head again because the longer it lingered around in there, the worse she would sleep. But there was literally no way she could think of to ease the topic to something else without letting it slip that she and Carol had been an actual thing. A bad thing. A huge mistake, in retrospect. But it was definitely _something_.

 “Well, it's good thing you made the right choice,” she tried, pushing the salad around the plate. Her appetite had completely evaporated and she took a large guzzle of her spritz instead. Anything to settle her roiling stomach and black out the last 5 minutes of her life. She looked towards the exit and sighed.

 

* * *

 

A nice lunch could make the whole day go smoother. A bad lunch could completely fucking suck all the goodness out of the world for at least 12 hours. It was easy enough even for a blind dog to see what kind of lunch she had with Elliot. Obviously, the day didn't get any better after that and in fact, by about 2 PM Helen was ready to stab herself in the face just to get rid of the pounding headache between her eyes and as a last ditch effort to escape having to sit at her desk for another dreadful 2 hours, at least.

 Every time she looked at the spreadsheets on her laptop, her mind wandered back to lunch, and one specific part of lunch. Carol looked downright awful, there was no other way to describe it. And she'd seen the blonde in the early morning, unshowered, with bed-head, no make up, in old pyjamas but that? _That_ was something on another level. That wasn't merely someone who had just woken up and gone out for a quick coffee before getting on with her day—mostly because generally people weren't getting their first coffee of the day at 12:30 PM. Also, she didn't have a coffee in her hand. Just a doughnut. (Carol loved those fucking strawberry jelly doughnuts.)

 When she saw that mess of a woman at the window in her memory, she felt a nasty blaze of anger, and betrayal. But there was pain too, something deeper and hot that spread through her chest and clouded her eyes a little bit with the threat of tears. God, she hated it. She hated the weakness that just a face could inspire in her. So she straightened her back, squared her shoulders and shook off the vulnerability mushrooming in her body. There was something else though. It caused her breath to shallow marginally and a dull ache to settle in her limbs, especially her empty hands.

 She was lonely. There was really no other way to explain it all and she loathed just the idea alone. When she woke up in the middle of night, in her cold bed, and rolled over there was nothing else there except the glow of her clock. It had only been a few weeks of having Carol next to her, every single night and she'd become really accustomed to it, so much so that she actually never wanted that to change. And then she was gone. Suddenly.

 And then she was back. Just as unexpectedly, but not in a good way.

 “Patti!” she called out to her assistant. “I'm leaving early. Anything pressing?”

 “You have a meeting with the new Creative Dev director at 3:15.”

 “Reschedule that to tomorrow, please.” She sighed, shutting down her computer. “That it?”

 “Yep.”

 She pushed her chair back, snatched up her purse and phone, and took one last glance around. “Okay, great. Lock up for me? Have a good night.”

 She wasn't even sure if Patti said anything in return.

 

* * *

 

Red pumps clacked against the sidewalk on Santa Monica as she made her way to the bar. Sure, it was slightly early to be getting drunk but the sun was shining, it was a nice day, and goddammit she needed to get right out of her head as soon as possible. She couldn't remember the last time she'd approached Gold Coast at this time of day (probably a decade ago) and walking up La Jolla in bright sunshine made her a little bit uncomfortable, as if she'd stepped into some alternate reality, some scrubby evil timeline of her own life. Cars sped by every few seconds and there was already a small crowd of men gathered on the sidewalk outside the bar, smoking and vaping and having ridiculously loud conversations. At least she wasn't alone in her misery.

 Sliding past them and into the venue, she made a beeline for the granite bar and parked herself squarely on a stool, ready to get fucking wasted. If she was lucky maybe there would be a similarly miserable lesbian, or hell, even some curious straight woman would do for the night, and she'd be able to squash down all the bubbling rage and distress. Or drown it into oblivion. Anything—anything at all—to push Carol from her mind would be wonderful.

 Glass after glass of red wine came her way, each one going down a little easier and a little faster than the last one. Face after face came into her view; some stuck around for a conversation, some just flitted away and she didn't miss them at all. One of them was rather beautiful and she could see herself stripping that black dress off, and throwing her onto the bed. How wonderful it would be to lose herself in that body, those arms, the smells and moans and pure unfamiliarity of it all. Draining the last of her glass, Helen glanced around for the woman who was over by the pool table, laughing with her friends.

 Her phone vibrated against her hip and she fished it out, and saw it was only a Facebook notification about one of her friends' photos. Swiping it away, she had almost achieved some semblance of self-control but the wine swam in her head, her face feeling warm. The bartender wandered by, took her empty glass and refilled it again without comment as she stared at the screen, even though nothing important was there. Out of the corner of her eye, a shot of vodka slid in her direction, thanks to the same bartender. Her fingers touched on her contacts, scrolling down and all she could think about was lunch again. She hovered over the number, hesitating, wondering, debating. There was a nervous itch in her hand and a burgeoning lump in her throat.

 What would it even be like to hear her voice again? She quickly threw back the vodka and smacked the empty shotglass down on the bar.

  _Helen, get it together, you stupid asshole. You were fine up until today. Pull yourself together._

 It was fucking bullshit and she chugged down half of her wine in one long gulp, shoved her phone back in her pocket, her gaze latching defiantly onto the alluring woman in the black dress.

 


	3. “Anything you would consider unprofessional?”

The next morning, the alarm buzzed far too loudly and there was no one next to her. Only the stale stench of old vodka and red wine was there to keep her company; that and the ever-present throbbing hangover headache. It seemed to be her most devoted and longest-lasting relationship as of late. A hand reached over just in case, just in the off-chance that maybe the bed was still warm. Her pulse quickened momentarily, thinking she caught a very specific scent on her sheets but squinting at the pillow beside her made it obvious nobody had been there all night. A sinking, nauseating feeling settled in her chest as she realized exactly who she had been looking for in the haze of early morning grogginess. Her outstretched hand gripped at the cool bedsheets until her knuckles turned white.

 She buried her face in her own pillow, breathing deeply to calm her nerves but as she finally gathered the courage to face the day, she felt the heat in her eyes and dampness on the cloth. Her breaths stuttered and she forcibly wiped away the evidence on her cheeks. _Fuck_.

 It was not going to be a good rest of the week.

 All it had taken was two seconds and an agitated ex-girlfriend to derail all the hard work she had done.

 

* * *

 

The view was stunning, to put it mildly. Swathes of lush green grass contrasted with the dark green hues of the pine trees grouped along the mountainside. The summer sky in Aspen was always so much bluer, and the clouds so picturesque, and the sun brighter somehow. Sometimes Los Angeles managed to brainwash her into believing that the air everywhere was as thick, as oppressive, in the rest of the country and when she came out to Colorado, there was a huge shift in both her body and her mood—something odd that wasn't just due to elevation.

 They used to come out here at least once a year, normally in the winter for skiing back when she was with Ed. The kids loved it. She loved it. Ed didn't care for the town, or the flight, or the price of the hotels, or much of anything except speeding down the slopes alone. But then, Ed didn't really care for her either so it shouldn't have been that shocking that he didn't enjoy their family vacations.

 Of course, currently, it was costing her about a grand and a half a night but it was, in reality, a small price to pay for the ability to just shut out L.A. completely, to only do things that she wanted to do, to relax and ignore the incessant dinging of her inbox and the demands of each irritating, needy colleague. She'd have to check in on the network eventually but the last few days had been a complete work blackout, and for some reason, it had manged to blackout Carol too. Almost as if those past few months in L.A. were a bad dream that was finally over. (She knew better, of course. She wasn't fucking delusional.)

 The mountains towered over her from horseback and the rest of her group seemed similarly awed by the vista. She took a deep breath of the crisp, cool summer air. It was as if it was just blowing away all the poisons that had taken root inside her over the year.

 It had been much the same for the last little while: keeping herself busy during the days, and frequenting J-Bar or the hotel bar at night, finding all sorts of people to chat with. That had never been a problem for her, even alone. She'd even managed to run into two bears at the bar who gave her some good hints for the city. She'd never done this place by herself, or gay.

 Not until the 6th day did the longing ache started to wriggle free of its confines. Luckily that by then she had made some friends (acquaintances really) and spent evenings with drinks and conversation that wasn't about the latest ratings pull or which sponsor was on the table for the next reality show or even past relationships involving a neurotic blonde twit. She'd even managed to get laid a few times and man, it had been a while.

 It was only the next morning when she realized how hollow she was, how unsatisfied she felt. So, she just stopped fucking women she barely knew. It wasn't worth the forcible self-reflection that inevitably reared itself with regret the next day.

 By the end of the 9 days she'd booked off, it felt like enough. Her luggage was packed far before check-out time and she was already in the cafe, finishing a small breakfast by the time her alarm would usually go off. She'd slept well, soundly, full of pleasant dreams and woke up without her best friend, the headache. Everything had been reset finally.

 

* * *

 

Two days. Two whole fucking days. That was all the relief she got back at work. Two days had gone off without a single hitch, without a single reminder of any terrible personal decisions she'd made in the past.

 And then there was a ding. Just a small, regular, everyday ding. For some reason, she sensed ahead of time that this innocuous ding meant something different than it ever had before. Glancing over at the screen, she saw it was from the legal department with the words “Sexual Harassment Lawsuit” emblazoned in bold at the top of her inbox. At first, she ran through the list of everyone she knew to be recently involved in relationships at work. Nobody particularly sprung to mind as ending with any animosity, at least not to the degree that they'd bypass HR entirely and she wouldn't have a heads up.

 Curiosity got the better of her and she clicked on it, noting that it was CC'ed to Elliot, as well as all the other members of the board. Before she'd even made it past the recipients, there was a strange man in spandex bicycle shorts standing at her desk, serving her a stack of legal documents from behind an ugly ginger beard.

  _Oh fuck._

 The complainant's name jumped off the page and once again, all the personal work she'd done to push down stinging emotions and bittersweet memories clawed right back to the surface.

  _Jesus fucking Christ._

 With the way her phone was ringing and emails were flooding her inbox, she'd think the network had just filed for chapter 11 or LA was on fire. Elliot's voice was grating and severe, clearly pissed off on a more-than-masturbating-Matt-Leblanc level. This could actually be serious as it was about her, the fucking president of the network being sued by another woman, a disgruntled ex-employee who also happened to be well-known in the industry. There was a certain itch of fear hovering around her but pure, unadulterated anger seemed to be much more the norm.

  _How fucking dare she_.

 Hanging up on Elliot only had her phone ring again, with Justin, a junior lawyer in their legal department, relaying instructions on what was happening next. They were off-loading the case to a specialized firm that Helen happened to be familiar with from past run-ins. Not with her personally, just if a corporation with a lot of money and a big reputation to protect needed lawyers to bleed a threat dry, it was Kitzmann, Kitzmann, & Haas. She wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing that the network thought it needed such big (terrifying) players for this case.

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't as if she'd be free from lawyers and lawsuits and general unpleasantness in previous jobs but there was something about it being incredibly personal (and painful) that actually made her uncomfortable in a very unfamiliar way. It was almost like her divorce from Ed but strangely more upsetting than the ending of a 9-year marriage. At least that had been merely a conflict between two people, and their respective lawyers. The entire thing was handled quietly in small offices and meeting rooms, with minimal involvement of anyone else, even the kids.

 This was her, Carol, their lawyers, her assistant, the legal department, the whole law firm, the board of directors, and the entire network in on it. It took something that had been very intimate (and hidden well) and made it a subject of speculation, gossip, and shame for everyone else to see. The amount of rage she had towards Carol for doing this was immeasurable. Her fingernails dug into her palms as the lawyer spoke blandly to her about the next proceedings and her shoe tapped nervously against the leg of her chair.

 Not to mention, Carol must be a fucking idiot on top of everything else. If she had been finding difficulty getting another job, it would multiply exponentially after this shitshow. No one with anything to lose would hire her ever again. It was essentially career suicide, so it wasn't that shocking she was asking for such an exorbitant amount of compensation.

 What was this guy's name? Harry? Henry? One of those two. He was a slick white-haired, slightly overweight name partner so she knew this was being taken far more seriously than she would have given it credit for. He stared at her from above his glasses, tapping his overly-fancy Caran d’Ache pen against an equally expensive notebook in front of him and his fancy 3-piece suit. Everything about him screamed expensive, and intimidating.

 “So, what do you think?” His voice low, gruff, intimidating, like he had stepped out of some black and white lawyer film set in the Deep South. Minus the accent. This guy was a native New Yorker through and through.

 Helen merely nodded, blinking slowly. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.” She tried to glance down at his scribbles to see what she was agreeing to.

 He flipped to a blank page, picked up the ostentatious pen and waited. “How about you start at the beginning.”

 “Of what?” There was nothing she considered more terrifying than having to relive her entire pathetic, failed relationship in front of some man she didn't even know, and barely trusted. His eyes were too dark to read and his nails appeared chewed, at least the thumb on his left hand. It made her squirm. And if this swanky suit had that effect on her, a powerful network executive, she could only imagine how anxiety-ridden human-stressball Carol would react. That brought a tiny smirk to her face for a brief second.

 “The relationship. With Ms. Rance.” He leaned back in the leather chair, resting the pen against his lips. “Just the basic outline for now and we'll see where we can go from there.”

 She winced and absently picked at the arm of the chair with a finger. Everything else that had happened in the past few months had only been the tip of an iceberg of misery. This, this right here was true hell. “Well, I don't know. It was fine until she cheated on me so I dumped her, then she quit, for some reason. And now I guess she needs money.” Being obstinate would not help but her skin crawled at the mere idea of sharing anything about her relationship with anybody else. It was nobody's business.

 His smooth face betrayed no hint of annoyance or impatience, like he had seen this behaviour time and time again. “Okay, how would you characterize the initiation of the relationship? Who pursued whom?”

 

 She took a deep breath, suddenly thrown into that night again, almost too aware of how it felt to kiss Carol that first time. How Carol made a quip about daddy issues, or not just daddy issues, and how she'd been so fucking receptive to every move Helen made. How she had felt like she was going to burst with how much restraint she had been holding onto; how she'd wanted nothing more than to fuck Carol right there in her office. But instead, they'd moved slower, as Carol leaned into her lips, and Carol had been the one to touch her first. Her arm trembled a little recalling how tentative Carol's hand had been against her bare skin and the way she was obviously fully aware of the goosebumps that had been there as they kissed.

 And then, how it exploded and she couldn't remember really the exact details of what happened but they were out of those awkward chairs and she could taste the sweetness of white jelly beans and smokiness of weed on Carol's lips. But they were there, in her office, lips pressed against each other, hands grabbing and pulling, and Carol was so, so fucking soft and timid—but charged with something else that at the time Helen had assumed was desire. Maybe it never had been.

 No. It was. It was Carol who had wriggled her shaking fingers into Helen's waistband and yanked on her blouse, pulling it free. And it was Carol that made the first loud moan as Helen's lips moved hard against her neck. It had been Carol's hands in her hair, tugging closer. God, it had been something else.

 

 Like hell she was going to tell this guy any of that. “Anything I tell you is confidential, right?”

 “Not entirely. Your network is my client so we are able to share your evidence with them. Why is there something you'd rather they not know?”

 Helen pressed her lips tightly and shook her head. The stuff about being high was probably not that important anyway. It hadn't really made a difference in the grand scheme of things and she doubted Carol would mention that detail either. Or maybe she would because she could claim she was taken advantage of. After all she had been the one to suggest the drugs... Shit. Well, they'd cross that bridge if they came to it. “Nothing important, no.”

 “Like I said, just the rough outline. I don't need a lot of intimate details yet.”

 She paused. “Yet.”

 “Yes, yet.” He scribbled something down. “Continue, please. What was the nature of the initiation?”

 Unless she was completely delusional, this seemed like a fairly straightforward answer. “Mutual. There was an attraction already. And one evening after work, I hinted at interest and she reciprocated. And it just... went from there.”

 “Did you use any form of pressure, work-related or otherwise, to encourage her participation?”

 Helen's face grew into a scowl and her hand clenched into a fist momentarily. “Absolutely not.” She'd only told her the truth, and waited. Waited until Carol leaned in just that little bit and then she kissed her. She'd never have done it otherwise. Frankly, she wouldn't have had the balls without Carol's small move forward.

 Harry hummed and nodded. “When was this? How long after you started at the network in your current position?”

 “A week and a bit.”

 His bushy grey eyebrows raised but his mouth remained impassive as he nodded. If she had met this man outside the law firm, she'd probably consider him a huge dickhead. That was just his air. “And how long until it became a sexual relationship?”

 

 She shifted in her seat, thinking about that night again. The moment Carol's hands slid up around her waist, she had known it was a lost cause to resist. But she was not her husband; she had never been interested in sex in the office. It seemed so tawdry and cliched, like something out of a porn video on Ed's computer. And literally uncomfortable because really, they were grown adults and having a large, clean plush bed available was much preferable to a rockhard desk or lumpy sofa that any number of industry asses had already touched. She still could feel the way her throat struggled let the words out:

  _I don't do this in my office_. It had been ridiculous to say in retrospect, because 3 days later she'd had Carol's pale thighs over her shoulders and those desperate manicured hands tangled in her hair right there on that same hard, white sofa. But that night, it wasn't necessary. They weren't quite crawling out of their own skins with arousal. Not like Monday afternoon, after weekend of nothing but sex—and hiking with Beverly Lincoln.

 “Same night.” It had been a risk to cool things down and invite Carol over to her house instead of just going for it right then and there but the thing was, as Carol followed in her shiny black BMW down the West Hollywood streets, she knew somehow that this made it different. It wasn't simply a horny, half-stoned spur of the moment mistake because the half-hour drive to her house gave them both plenty of time alone in their cars to think about the possibilities, and the array of repercussions. It gave Carol an easy way to make a different turn, an easy excuse, and go home instead.

 She'd watched Carol get out of her car in the driveway and walk slowly towards the house, hesitating just a little and offering a shy smile. She'd even given her an out as she slid her key in the lock.

  _You sure?_

 Carol had let out this relieved breath, kissed her again, right there on her doorstep, tentatively yes, but hungry. And that was that.

 

“And what was the duration of the relationship with Ms. Rance?”

 “About 3 weeks.” Her tongue tripped over the words as they escaped. It felt like much longer and she couldn't believe that what amounted to one of the shortest relationships she'd ever had managed to destroy her sanity in such a decisively caustic way.

 Harry Kitzmann cocked his head to the side, almost as if he didn't believe her either. “Interesting. During this time, were there ever any issues with job performance?”

 “Hers? No. Never." She scoffed loudly. "She's an old pro at juggling the two.”

 “What do you mean by that?” Oh, right. Despite it being rather common knowledge that Carol had a thing for screwing her bosses within the network circles, other people would have no idea.

 “Well, it's a pattern. She's slept with, um, basically, all of her last... 4 bosses, before me. Including my ex-husband, which I was unaware of at the time. Who had fired her afterwards.”

 A mad scribbling sound came from the notepad on his desk as the pen took down her words and he nodded, a sly smile sneaking out across his face. Carol's past was going to bite her in the ass. “And were you aware of these affairs?”

 “She knows I know. Well, she told me on my first day about her and my ex-husband. I hadn't known until then. And then I heard rumours about an ongoing, long-term affair with Merc Lapidus, which were confirmed by her a few days later. And then later, she also confirmed Castor Sotto.” She paused, revelling at how she felt zero guilt for airing this dirty laundry list of Carol's past lovers. “And then the final one—I don't remember his name but he was at Nickelodeon—was something she told me later into our relationship.” When she was drunk. But that also wasn't important.

 “All male?”

 Helen nodded slowly. She wasn't even entirely certain there hadn't been more daddy issues in Carol's repertoire. Men, women, who knew; she couldn't discount either entirely. Who knew what she had lied about if she could lie about going on a damn hike with a supposed friend.

 “Very good. Very good.” He flipped to a fresh page. “And in terms of the termination of the relationship, how was that done? At the workplace? Amicably?”

  _Fuck this part._ She hated this fucking part. “No, it was outside work. At the park. In front of another employee of mine, Beverly Lincoln. She's a writer for one of our sitcoms and Carol's...” She couldn't quite find the right description. “Lover.” The word stuck like glue to the top of her mouth and it probably came out a bit more like a question than a fact. “Their affair is why I broke up with her.”

 “And how would you characterize the incident?”

  _Agonizing. Humiliating. Heartbreaking. Crushing_. “Difficult.” She swallowed the hard lump in her throat.

 “Difficult,” he repeated. “Anything specifically notable that she could consider 'harassment'?”

 Demanding Carol strip off her clothes would probably be considered in that realm and it was times like these where Helen really regretted that particular part of her behaviour. It had been a little too much, but then also, perhaps not enough. “I asked her for my clothes back, including the ones she was wearing. She agreed.”

 “Which pieces of clothing?”

 “She ended up topless.” She might as well just come out and say it. It happened, it was out there, it would come up in the depositions anyway, if not by her or Carol, certainly Beverly. Just hearing the words made her feel uncomfortable in the chair. Still part of her was glad she hurt Carol in that way, because she deserved to be as humiliated as Helen had been. It was payback, not just a random attack. But then sometimes, when people like Harry here, questioned her about it, it seemed awful and a faint air of regret bubbled up out of all the rage and pain.

 His pen tapped idly against the desktop. “Okay, and at the job? What would you consider to be the general feeling in the workplace post-termination?”

 “Uncomfortable. Of course. But I was prepared for that transition period.”

 Her legs bounced again, just thinking about the feeling she'd had coming into the office later that morning and seeing Carol _there_. She'd managed to avoid her on the elevator, ignored the fact that it had become a ridiculous habit for her pulse to quicken when she saw Carol's BMW in the parking spot next to hers, and had to actively resist the common routine of popping into Carol's office on the way to her own. The door had been closed anyway.

 

She'd busied herself with all the tedious, mind-numbing junk for The Box premiere later in the afternoon, including a particularly trying conference call with the east coast affiliates. By lunch, she had pushed most of the anger to the side and managed to be a productive, if slightly impatient, member of the team. As her stomach growled, she had to catch herself from wondering where they'd go for lunch. They. No, not they. Just her. Maybe she'd just have Patti order a salad from the commissary and avoid any potential run-in.

 It hadn't worked. Eventually the silent treatment had to break and they'd have to do their jobs as professionals. (It hadn't been very professional, in all honesty.) There was no way to avoid dealing with the Director of Programming, especially at the launch of their brand new reality game show yet she did manage to purposefully make Carol's day as difficult as fucking possible. Every little mistake she could pick on, she did. Every chance she had to shoot daggers in her direction, she did. Everything about the events in the morning made her feel powerless, and weak, and humiliated, and like Carol had all the control. If she could do anything to maintain her composure, it was at work where nobody had an option other than to do exactly what she wanted when she wanted it. What had previously seemed like more of a partnership between virtual equals finally manifested as the power imbalance it really was when respect and good will evaporated. And, yes, it was petty and pitiful in a sense to resort to the job, but far be it from Helen Basch to admit that.

 

“Anything you would consider unprofessional?”

 “No, not at all.” Yes, maybe some of it had been but she had no idea what had crossed a line because some of it had been a blur and she'd swear to that in a court of law. “I had her removed from the set of one of our shows, but there was no reason for a programming director to be present. It's not in her job description to oversee live broadcasts.”

 (It might be. She'd never actually read Carol's job description.) She'd done it strictly to hurt Carol, of course. There was absolutely no other motivation other than to exercise whatever tiny amount of power she felt she still had over Carol. And there was a certain malevolent thrill in embarrassing her ex-girlfriend in front of, well, everybody... including that insufferable bitch, Beverly Lincoln. All of them would see exactly the hellstorm they'd released upon the world with their idiocy.

 “You don't have to convince me, yet. Just the basics of actual events.” He clicked on his pen again, scanning the legal scrawl in front of him. “What else happened between then and the time she left the company?”

 

There was the moment where she thought her chest was imploding when she came home to see the key she'd given Carol on the table in the front foyer, and all Carol's belongings removed from the rest of her house. No silly-looking Puma running shoes in the hallway. No pink glass bong on the living room table. No body cremes, sleep googles, or scrunchies anywhere in sight.

 There was the terrible night where Helen spent the majority of it drinking red wine alone, scrolling through her phone deleting photos and cute text messages, and angrily crying like a fucking loser until finally falling asleep on the sofa at 3:30 AM, but she suspected Harry wasn't after that sort of sordid, pathetic detail.

 There was also the following morning when she woke up with a throbbing headache, tripped over an empty bottle of wine and slammed her shin into the coffee table to the point it bled profusely and she wondered if stitches were also in her immediate future. When she had arrived to the office that morning, Carol's car wasn't next to hers and a detestable lump formed in her throat just at the sight. Carol's office was stripped bare and there was a message from Patti that Carol's resignation was already on her desk.

 

“Nothing. I didn't see her at all afterwards. She had quit and cleared out her office before I even got in the next morning.”

 “So, she didn't really attempt to work with you.”

 “No.” She sighed. “My director of casting, Andy Button, informed me later that she mentioned taking a job with her ex-lover slash ex-boss, Castor Sotto. Over at the CW network. For twice the money.”

 “Very interesting,” Harry murmured, scratching at the paper furiously. The sound grated in Helen's ears, sending a shudder up the back of her neck. Yeah, this was not going to go well for Carol at all. If she had to go through all this torture, at least it was a small comfort that Carol would be going through much, _much_ worse.

 


	4. “Tell your friend she's making a big mistake.”

Part of the the board's demands were that prior to the depositions, Helen would be required to attend network-approved counselling. Elliot gave her some bullshit reasoning about level-headedness and self-assurance and the ability to withstand the pressure of a deposition or, even worse, a hearing. Clearly the man had had sexual harassment lawsuits of his own in the past and knew how to work the system. The problem was however that Helen didn't believe she needed to work any system, and that in fact, she'd done nothing wrong.

Okay, maybe the bra thing was a bit extreme. But that was outside work anyway. And kicking Carol off the stage was petty and mean, but it was hardly harassment. Right? That was an issue for the highly-skilled and ridiculously-paid lawyers to deal with. She ignored the fact that none of what Carol called harassment would have happened if they hadn't been sleeping together in the first place, if Helen hadn't made that targetted move all those weeks ago in her office, if she hadn't...

But there it was in black and white: if Helen wanted to keep her job, some bullshit therapy was in the cards. She resented shrinks, and looked back on previous sessions with a mix of shame and irritation at the sheer ineffectiveness of the whole pointless exercise.

The first session didn't dissuade that preconception. She'd spent an hour with some company-compensated shrink named Amie, with an “ie” and probably had her most recent birthday down in the early 20s, which immediately set her on edge. A child who had parents who couldn't even spell a basic 3-letter name did not bode well for anything. Ugh. She wasn't even cute. Her wavy blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and her make-up was heavy enough that Helen had to check to make sure they were still in her therapy session and weren't actually on their way to Couture or Nightingale (her daughter loved that place). It could be very possible that this toddler of a psychotherapist had just graduated about 45 minutes prior to taking on her as a client. No amount of batting of those mascara-caked eyelashes endeared her to Helen, or inspired any sense of confidence. She seemed to spend more time checking her Facebook on her iPhone than taking notes.

This was hell.

It had been a gruelling appointment where Amie just asked a lot of questions about Carol, and useless, inane questions about their relationship, and then some bullshit about her parents. None of it mattered anyway and it certainly didn't inspire any further _level-headedness_.

 

On her walk back to her office, she couldn't help dragging her feet just a little. People were bustling around, running in and out of rooms, including Carol's old office which still didn't house a new Director of Programming yet. HR was working on recruitment and various other heads of departments were handling the rest, while she took on the brunt of it. Eventually there would need to be a permanent solution, of course, but it was hardly her priority. (Okay, maybe, in all honesty, she was avoiding the issue.)

And then there was her pitch meeting coming up with the Lincolns, and Matt Leblanc. Andy and Myra were already waiting when she walked into her office. The day was just going to be hour after hour of dragging her thoughts back to Carol, over and over and over.

 

* * *

 

“Tell your _friend_ she's making a big mistake.”

They'd told her not to. The lawyers, a lot of them. Her new embryo-aged shrink. Elliot. But fuck it, sometimes she just couldn't help herself. Something in her chest tightened when she pictured the coming deposition; she could imagine Carol's face; she could feel her own rage boiling under the surface at having to be put through such stupid bullshit.

“I assume you're talking about Carol, as she is the queen of big mistakes.” That was totally a dig at her, and Helen knew it. “Would you care to be more specific?”

“She filed a sexual harassment suit against the network.” It still sounded so ridiculous, even after having time to let it sink in. The look on Beverly's face seemed to imply that she had no idea, but was rather enjoying the news. They squabbled back and forth about it for a few seconds but Helen found her heart wasn't really in it to argue about the definition of harassment or the fact that maybe the Brit was right, maybe. Probably not. Definitely not... but still.

It felt freeing to finally be able to talk about Carol, to the closest person to Carol. They'd managed to work together without much of a problem thus far, but they'd also never mentioned the giant elephant in the room other than that one meeting with Tim Whittick. It sort of lingered around the edges of every meeting and phone call but nothing was ever addressed directly. Now... now it was and it was strangely relieving.

“Nevermind...”

“What?” If Beverly was going to start this, she was damnwell going to finish it. And a tiny part of Helen just revelled in the chance to talk about Carol openly in way that didn't have some head-shrinking legal professional picking apart her every word.

She was clearly struggling with her tongue. “No, Sean would kill me.”

“Then definitely say it.”

By this point, they were past the part where she was going to punish the Lincolns professionally for any personal shit. And really, with the looming harassment suit, she really didn't have a choice than to overlook any issues with people close to Carol.

“You totally brought this on yourself.”

Nobody had dared speak to her like that. Not Elliot, not her kids, not the prostitot shrink, not even Harry goddamn Kitzmann and he totally seemed like the kind of guy to be blunt as a prick when required. “Excuse me?” What the fuck?

Beverly wasn't even close to finished. “You took this wonderful relationship, and you _absolutely_ wrecked it. She really cared for you. You were the first boss that actually made her happy.”

The words didn't quite sound real. Fake. Fake words, to bring down her guard and get her to admit her own wrongdoing. It wasn't going to work. They both knew who was really to blame and if the stupid lesbian haircut hadn't got in the way, none of this crap would have happened. “Uh, I think if anyone got in the middle of our relationship—”

“Oh, please. I know you'd like to believe that, but I have never, _ever_ been interested in Carol.. _or women_!”

It was all bullshit... She had to glare at Beverly because none of this seemed to be grounded in their actual reality. Women who weren't interested in other women didn't sneak around with somebody else's girlfriend on secret hikes and meetings.

Beverly shifted and leaned back. “Oh, don't give me the eyebrow. You are basing this entirely on a haircut! Which is... it's so clichéd and stereotypical. It's...”

There was a small pause and maybe Helen felt something building that wasn't entirely based in anger. She bit down on her own tongue.

The truth came out point blank, aimed right at her heart. “Carol loved you.”

Yep, there it was. Disbelief mixed with the only words she was ever interested in hearing. Words that she couldn't quite accept as true but that she had wanted so badly to be true.

“She said that?” _Please. Please, Carol_. Of course Carol never said that. She fucking loathed how her voice went up like she was actually hopeful it was the truth. How embarrassing, especially in front of this bitch.

Backtracking quickly as if she shouldn't have let that secret slip, Beverly raced though an excuse. “Not in those words, but I know it's true, and you... got paranoid and crazy, and _you_ broke her heart.”

Helen had to take a second to think and she pulled away from her desk. The idea that she broke anyone's heart, let alone a woman that had been cheating on her... okay, maybe she hadn't been. It wouldn't be the first time she'd heard Beverly use the word 'paranoid' in relation to her. She'd heard that accent drifting around the bend in the trail in Griffith Park all those months ago. Could Carol have actually loved her? It didn't feel possible, with all the insane freaking out and the gross mooning over ex-boyfriends and sneaking around with Beverly and... the contented smile she always saw when Carol rolled over in bed in the morning. The way Carol's fingertips dug into her skin and hands wound tightly into her hair as if they could never get close enough—every single time they fucked. The warmth of Carol curling up against her in the middle of the night and letting out that small sigh against her shoulder. The tiny, soft touches out of nowhere, when she was doing something as boring as warming up vegetable soup on the stove or standing at Patti's desk.

“Wow.”

_Shit._

No. Beverly had to be wrong. If you love someone, you don't do what Carol did, period. And like hell she was going to let Beverly get the last word, or feel superior in any way whatsoever. Plus, she still wasn't entirely sure Beverly wasn't into other women.

She baited Beverly. Hard. Anything to get the Brit to break and reaffirm her own skewed world view. Helen pushed on the vibe thing, something to get her to betray her nerves. The woman in front of her was unflappable, defiant even, and the idea that Beverly was so steadfast in her beliefs could be evidence that Helen simply didn't want to see. So, she tried another route. Yeah, that worked after a while but then again, Helen was acutely aware that when she gave compliments, people tended to get flustered... like in the way Beverly was fidgeting and touching her own hair right now. It was different than the way Carol had responded that night, in her office. There had been expectation there, some nerves of course (because Carol was permanently stuck in low-level anxiety mode) but not this sort of fumbling agitation. She knew she could read a person at least that well to tell the difference between arousal, interest, and flattered discomfort.

Beverly Lincoln may be caught off-guard at the moment, and patently confused, desperate to get out of her sexually harassing boss's office... but she was clearly not into women. Probably. Goddammit. As the older woman stumbled out of her office like an awkward baby moose, Helen smirked and allowed herself a moment of self-congratulation. That bitch would be thinking about her for the rest of the day. Maybe she actually would tell Carol now and stop this whole thing before it really, really fucked with her life.

 

But deep down, there was a tingle. Maybe it was gas or maybe it could have been the budding of serious respect for Beverly Lincoln.

 

 


	5. “I want her back.”

Well, whatever Beverly had told Carol—if anything—obviously made very little impression because over the next few weeks, there was no sign of Carol retracting the lawsuit at all. In fact, even more plans were made, more fucking soul-crushing meetings with lawyers were attended, and more of her deeply personal life was made almost a matter of public record. And then there was the therapy on top of that, which in some ways had been a bit of a godsend. It gave her a place to let out the anger at Carol, at Elliot, at whatever part of this stupid process was bothering her at the moment... but in actuality most of it was just her going on and on and on about Carol. Little, intimate things that she wasn't even aware had stuck with her through the months, the lingering pleasant feelings as opposed to the tsunami of negativity which had dragged her under so often.

And, really, Amie wasn't all bad. Anymore. She was barely an adult but that came with a certain optimism that balanced out the cynical, often challenging, nature of the actual hard work. It helped too that after a brief period of resistance, Helen had allowed herself some openness. Trust hadn't been easy but her friends seemed exhausted by the never-ending tirade of Carol drama spewing from her mouth and her family was equally useless. It just felt nice to have someone to rant to, an impartial observer, as it were.

She actually paid for extra sessions out of her own pocket just to ensure that she could have someone to talk to that wasn't going to tell her that either she was a raging horrible bitch or that she was totally justified in absolutely everything she did and felt. Both were equally unhelpful as it turned out. After Beverly's revelation, it seemed more important than before to work through everything. Something about just hearing “Carol loved you.” and “You broke her heart.” had some rusty wheels turning deep in the abandoned part of her brain that still held onto the last vestiges of affection and empathy. The words scratched an itch that she'd rather not have known even existed.

Therapy turned into less of a hellscape, and more of just an escape. Still, the office was awful with all the pointed looks and whispers behind her back, and Elliot was on her case about every little thing; it didn't matter what small issue arose, he knew about it before she did and was barking at her on the phone (or in person) with dictations and demands. All trust he had in her to do her job seemed to have evaporated almost instantaneously and there was a precariousness in her position that she'd never felt before. One slip up is all it would take.

And the lawyers! They still were the definition of Satan's helpers as they picked apart every little thing she'd said and done, finding faults with so much of it in that disapproving way that made her feel like a small child who had no idea what they'd even done wrong but was being constantly, consistently punished for it.

She knew, deep down, that the lawyers were actually on her side (well, the network's) but when they dug their grubby little manhands into her and Carol's relationship, it felt really fucking wrong. Dirty. She felt violated by the sheer number of sordid details that they demanded from her. And a tiny part of her bristled and grew defensive about Carol too. The looks, the snickers, the scribbles, and the nods between Harry and his team all set her teeth on edge. This is not how it was supposed to have been at all.

Helen twisted a black hair-tie around and through her fingers, stretching it out and snapping it back as the elastic stung her skin. Amie glanced down at the fidgeting but said nothing, her blue eyes almost vacant of any expression at all. Damn, she was good.

She'd just been over parts of her Carol epic for the 3rd time, and Amie regarded her with the same concerned detachment that Helen had become accustomed to. Different thoughts always sprung up when she repeated the story.

“And this Beverly thing,” Amie began, calm and cool. “Have you given any thought to why exactly you felt so threatened by her specifically, and not, for example, Carol's other coworkers and friends?”

Helen stiffened and snapped the hair elastic again. “I wasn't threatened.”

The blonde cocked an eyebrow at her, and smirked. “Remember...”

“Right, right, right.” Helen groaned, leaning back in her big comfy chair and running a hand over her face. “I got a vibe.”

“A vibe?” Christ, she sounded exactly like Beverly. Did everyone in the world think it was such a crazy idea?

“Yes, a vibe.” And a haircut. What part of this didn't people understand? The blazers, the hair, the... well, whatever else it was. It was a motherfucking vibe.

“The same _vibe_ you got from Carol?”

 _Shit._ Shaking her head, Helen scoffed as she pushed her hair back behind her ear. “Obviously not. Carol... Carol was... Different. There was, ugh. Attraction there. Mutually.”

Amie pursed her lips together and waited for a moment, just staring plainly at Helen. “Okay. And the vibe from Beverly was just 'She's a lesbian and into my girlfriend.' but there was no attraction or reciprocation in any way with you?”

Helen shrugged. That about summed it up.

“And these _vibes_ you get, what sort of vibe do you get from me? Just curious.”

It was a trap. It had to be.

“Be honest. It's not a trick.”

Maybe it would be better to talk with her friends because they weren't so apt at reading her mind and throwing it back in her face.

“You seem... nice. Young. A zygote. But nice.” Studiously taking in the layers of make-up and styled hair, and expensive Katherine Kidd dress that made it clear that her parents likely lived in Orange County or Malibu, there was no ping on any radar. But still the question itself made her hesitate. “No vibe.”

Amie grinned then, tapping on her iPhone. “How much of my professional bio did you read before you came to see me? Check out my areas of speciality?”

Helen rolled her eyes at the barrage of inane questions. “What's your point?”

“I'm gay.” Off Helen's complete disbelief, which was surely spread across her face, Amie continued, her eyes narrowing. _Should her shrink even be telling her that? Wasn't that against the rules or something?_ “You missed that. You didn't even pick up on it so your idea of 'getting vibes' and relying on those as a way to determine the fitness of people is not as foolproof as perhaps you think it is.” She paused, allowing Helen a moment to absorb the challenge to her way of thinking (and paranoia). “So, when you describe how different it felt with Carol as opposed to Beverly, there may be a very simple reason for that.”

“Yeah, Carol's beautiful, and smart. I was attracted to her. That's the difference. It's not about them.” She had _wanted_ Carol. She'd never wanted Beverly Lincoln at any time, for any reason. And she really didn't want Beverly to have Carol, for sure. She really, _really_ didn't want to lose Carol to Beverly of all people.

“Helen...”

She felt the creep of tension up the back of her neck and she rolled her shoulders, letting out a loud crack of her joints. “What?”

“Okay, how about you just sit on that for a while? Think it over tonight, maybe. We'll put that on the back burner for another time.” She quickly jotted something down and snapped the notebook closed. Helen was getting really fucking sick and tired of sitting around in rooms with people who just took secret notes every time she spoke. “Let's switch gears for a sec and get back to what you were saying earlier.”

She sighed, idly snapped the elastic band again, and shook out the tension in her back. As long as she didn't have to talk about Beverly Lincoln and that stupid haircut and stupid vibes anymore, it would be a relief.

“You mentioned a lot, and I mean _a lot_ , of feelings relating to Carol throughout our sessions, and the deposition is coming up soon, right? Lots of pent up anger, bitterness, disdain. You'll have to be ready for seeing her face to face again... and not lose your cool.”

What kind of amateur did this toddler therapist think she was? There is no way a woman gets to the top tier of a multi-million dollar TV network by losing her cool under a little bit of pressure. Then again, there were probably very few of them that had ugly, multimillion dollar sexual harassment lawsuits waged against them at the peak of their careers either. “And?”

“Relax.” Amie laughed, her eyes sparkling at Helen's snappy tone. “Now, I'm going to give you a sentence with a blank. You fill in the blank with the first honest thing that pops into your head.”

“I feel—blank—about this deposition.”

Oh Jesus. It was like grade school all over again and Helen could feel her eyes rolling back into her head at the sheer immaturity of the exercise. “Fine.” She did feel fine. Not necessarily indifferent, not overly attached to it, nor overly concerned. She knew there was nothing to be concerned about since the firm representing her were cruel and vicious beasts of civil litigation. There was simply no better way to describe them.

“If I could change anything about what I've done, I would—blank.”

“Not kick Carol off the stage.” At least that way, she'd have an even weaker case for a lawsuit but really, taking that out of the equation, she wasn't sure she actually would have done that differently. At the time it was the only thing she could do that gave her any sense of control at all. Plus, seeing Carol's face made her heart tremble and break. When it honestly came down to it, it was either kick Carol out or break down crying (and yelling) in front of absolutely everybody that worked for her. And she'd already had enough humiliation that morning. Amie's lack of experience came through just for a second as her eyebrow quirked and she frowned, obviously not liking Helen's choice. Sure, she could have chosen a whole bunch of things to change but really, what else did she do wrong? The bra thing. That wasn't great and Amie seemed to take particular insult when Helen acted so blasé about it. To her, it was tit-for-tat in the humiliation department. Clearly to her shrink, it was completely hideous behaviour. Amie'd mentioned other things, like listening, and slowing down, and not pushing partners into places they aren't comfortable—but all of that still went over Helen's head. She wasn't quite ready to accept that she'd done anything wrong, relationship-wise. Just post-relationship. Maybe just not _yet_ , anyway.

“I—blank—Carol.”

Without even thinking, Helen answered. “Miss.”

Amie's eyes shot up to stare at her, hard, as if she couldn't quite believe that word existed yet in Helen's very negatively-charged Carol-related vocabulary. The older woman shifted in her seat, crossed and recrossed her legs and fiddled with that damn hair-tie, trying for the first time to avoid the glare instead of facing it head on. She hadn't actually meant for that to come out at all. Normally, she'd flit through various insults and other unfavourable sentiments right away. Anything else to fill in the blank.

_Hate. Loathe. Can't stand. Want to punch. Don't want to see. Couldn't care less about._

All of those were blatant lies.

The way her throat tightened around the word she had said, made that clear enough. The idea that she would ever put “hate” and “Carol” in the same sentence made her stomach cramp and a sharp pain jutted into her temple.

Amie nodded slowly, trying to press her lips together so as not to betray the smile there. A flush of warmth swept up her chest at the fact maybe she'd pleased her gay child therapist; she felt a bit proud because that meant she was doing something well. It wasn't really that difficult after all.

God, she fucking missed Carol. Absolutely every single thing about her, even the fucking annoying shit that had got on her nerves over time. Like the popcorn kernel cracking, the used spoons she left on the counter, the nail-chewing, the Kleenex she'd leave in her pockets when she did the wash, all of it. Well, everything except the sneaking around with Beverly and lying to her face part.

“Good. Okay. Last one: I want—blank.”

Instead of hesitating, Helen knew exactly what she wanted and there was absolutely no doubt in her mind as she managed to choke out a whisper, “I want her back.”

For perhaps the first time since the breakup, Helen felt the heat and sting of tears building in her eyes then slip down her cheeks and this time they weren't fuelled by frustration, bitterness, and anger. She wiped a sleeve quickly across her face, sniffling to erase any vestige of her weakness and letting out an embarrassed chuckle. Amie cocked her head to the side, concern on her features.

 _Oh. Fuck._ With a resigned sigh, she knew it was only the beginning of this blubbering mess shit.

“Well, think about that then,” Amie started, holding her pen still for once. “Consider what happened here today, and what Beverly said to you as well. Work on accepting the reality of your behaviour. Try to put all that together and when you come in next time, we'll talk about that.”

 


	6. “We need to talk.”

The alarm blared loudly, coming out terribly shrill against the silence of her guestroom-turned-bedroom. Reaching over, she tapped on the screen, already wide awake. She'd not slept particularly well, again, her heart racing for most of the night whilst her stomach cramped itself into painful knots at the mere thought of what was about to come. She'd been prepped for the day, and been given the option of whether she even wanted to be there. After all, it was Carol's deposition, not hers. Not today. Initially she'd turned the invitation down on the advice of her therapist, who'd gone over all sorts of coping methods for the stress. But at the last minute, she'd called up Harry and insisted that she was fit to sit there and keep her mouth shut. He seemed pleased just to have her intimidating figure sitting there at the table.

Maybe she'd back out because it really didn't feel right. Nothing about this felt right.

She rolled over, gripping the cold sheets and willing the nausea to subside.

 

* * *

 

Every last movement, every step, every fucking look was planned in advance from the moment that she met with Jose, the junior litigation partner at the valet stand, to the walk through the lobby with the other slightly younger but more bloodthirsty Kitzmann, to when they would actually finish the deposition. It was a carefully designed mindfuck of a dance with exactly one purpose: to intimidate the shit out of Carol. The first step to winning the lawsuit was to get Carol to fuck up in the deposition. The network was literally paying this mob to tear Carol to pieces and leave nothing behind. And if Helen wanted to keep her job, she had to hold her head up and play along like a good little girl with a 6 million dollar sexual harassment lawsuit strangling her.

Fucking hell, Carol was still beautiful. Walking down from Kitzmann's paralegal's office gave Helen a rare chance to see Carol without being seen, at least not right away. She'd been told not to get caught; it would ruin the entire cheap facade. And that's all it really was, honestly because Helen hated this. The whole exercise was repulsive especially knowing now that, yeah, she was at fault for all the crap that happened. It was the first she'd even glanced at Carol since that unfortunate lunch at Vincente and she looked a thousand times better. Her hair was longer (and not tied back in a scrunchie); she was wearing rare blazer, something Helen wasn't sure she'd ever seen Carol wearing. She was only mildly twitchy. Fucking gorgeous.

A tremble passed through her chest and her breath caught, everything tightening like a vice. She was about to have an asthma attack—yet she didn't even have asthma. Could an otherwise healthy adult suddenly develop chronic lung disease when faced with an ex-lover?

James Kitzmann and his weird skunk-coloured hair nudged her inconspicuously and her gaze was torn away from the only thing in the world she actually wanted at this moment. Fuck this lawsuit and fuck her job and fuck her salary and fuck the network and fuck Beverly Lincoln and this law firm and this stupid pinstripe pantsuit she didn't even like. But then again, she couldn't actually throw all that shit out the window because she needed to keep her job, at the very least. It was basically all that she had left to cling onto.

It didn't a genius to see that Carol was flipping her shit, and it had been impossible not to notice her looking. Maybe to someone who didn't know the woman as intimately, all the body language would just seem vaguely nervous but Helen knew better. She could read Carol like a book, even after all the time and animosity between them now. Shoulders hunched, eyes wider than normal, hair flipping and most importantly: no normal, calm person needed their best friend to prop them up on the way to wherever they were headed. And certainly nobody flew into a flurry of limbs and loud whispers when someone looked their way.

“Helen.” The voice to her right came out as a low growl of discontent. He knew. He probably knew before she did. “Don't.”

Her shoes echoed up the elevator corridor and around the corner to, yep, the washroom. It was now or never and never seemed like a terrible option. She could hear Harry's voice, Elliot's voice, Amie's voice, all clamouring for her to turn around right this second and just get in the goddamn elevator. Okay, would Amie though? When it really came down to it, would her shrink actually tell her to ignore her feelings and go for logic and reason instead?

Well, she'd find out soon enough.

Of course there would be screaming. Why wouldn't Beverly and Carol scream again at the sight of Helen jumping out of nowhere? The last time they were all in this position, it certainly wasn't pleasant.

“We need to talk.”

_We should have talked a long time ago. We should have talked before any of this happened. We should have really talked, back when you said I scared you. I should have listened._

And then there was the violent puking. If there was one thing Helen didn't reasonably expect coming into the bathroom, it was precisely this. Then again, nerves had a funny way of wreaking havoc on people. Carol throwing up all over the place didn't seem to concern Beverly at all but it was debatable whether Helen should be around for this. All bravado and actual courage she'd had as she flung the door open seemed to evaporate in light of this.

“I'm gonna go...”

“No! Stay.”

It wasn't so much the words (which she did thank God for) but it was the way Carol said them that felt different. Like she wasn't vomiting up her breakfast, like they weren't basically estranged from each other. Like normal. Like things were normal. Almost. But not quite. Because they were only here because of a lawsuit.

Perhaps Beverly's presence made it even more awkward but it was a welcome relief to shoot the shit about work, purposely pushing the sound of chunks falling into toilet water to the background. Carol's irritated voice rang out at their friendly conversation and Helen momentarily wondered when she and Beverly began getting on as well as this. They'd only had one meeting after that one and it, well, she supposed it had been pretty pleasant and maybe it was the therapy but she felt a different vibe towards the Brit. The underlying threat faded into history and remorse and some anger at herself for being so idiotic previously. She was trying to make it up to both of the Lincolns because nobody deserved Tim Whittick, at all. Nobody. And, well, she felt really shitty about that too, in retrospect. Part of that was probably because he had single-handedly ruined an otherwise fantastic show. If Sean and Beverly's new script was anywhere as good as that, she needed to have it on the network.

And then, the other two were talking and Carol was snippy, preoccupied, and dabbing what Helen knew already was that raspberry-flavoured lip gloss from Sephora that she was obsessed with. Just the sight of it set off a barrage of memories, most of which involved kissing Carol, pressing her softly into her bed, the scent of artificial berries on her fingers as she rubbed gloss off her own lips before stepping back out of her office... and she fidgeted a bit with her suit jacket in a bid to distract herself. Fucking hell, if this plan didn't work... Goddammit.

Beverly quietly made her exit, hesitating, playing the protective, true friend that in all honesty, Helen wished she had as well. No sooner had the door closed and Helen opened her mouth to begin the apology than Carol was on her, flashing anger like Helen had never, ever seen from her before. This was a new world.

A new world full of yelling and pent-up rage finally coming out, all directed right smack in her face. And the worst (or best?) part was that Carol was right. Everything she said was what Helen had finally come to understand through every therapy session. Except the part where Carol thought it hadn't had any impact on Helen at all when, in fact, the opposite was very much the truth. Sure, she'd kept her job, but moving on like nothing ever happened? If only. She wouldn't even be here if that was the case.

Her mind whirled with everything Amie had said, everything she'd thought about late at night, every line she had rehearsed on the drive over here. It spewed out of her much like Carol's vomit a few minutes earlier. She stumbled over words, threw out personal shit she hadn't meant to say (not yet anyway) and ended up with a stiff ex-girlfriend staring at her, arms crossed, jaw set, eyes hard, barely giving her a glance who merely tossed back simple, short responses full of disbelief. She had every right to be pissed off when it all came down to it, completely justified in her anger and hurt. And Helen deserved every ounce of fury thrown her way.

Then the dreadful L-word slipped out, in exasperation at how Carol seemed to have no clue about how intense things had been.

“Come on. Of course I love you!”

_Oh, god. Oh Jesus fucking Christ, no._

“ _Loved_.” She quickly corrected herself, trying not to look at Carol. “Loved.”

Whether or not it was actually true, she couldn't tell Carol that now. Not in a bathroom at a law firm. Not when they were at each others' throats—okay, Carol was at hers. It seemed far too vulnerable, too much, too scary for Carol to handle. Fuck, she couldn't even handle the idea of a hypothetical puppy; there was no way she'd take in a declaration of love without a meltdown. “D. _D_.” She continued, emphasizing the past tense.

And...

There was the smallest wobble of a raspberry-glossed bottom lip, expectation and hope in every crinkle and twinkle of her eyes. Maybe this is all she had needed to say in the first place? All those months ago. Maybe that... how would it have made a difference? She supposed it didn't really matter anymore. Amie had repeatedly told her that there was no point in wondering “what if” about everything in the past. She could take responsibility for what actually happened, or live in a dream world of things that never happened but could have. Only one of these options could lead to the things she wanted.

“Fine...”

So, with that quiver of Carol's lips, she decided not only to take responsibility for her own feelings, but to be honest. If it didn't work out, at least she would know she tried. And frankly, with the way Carol's blue eyes were latched onto her it may not be much of a risk anyway.

“ _Love_.”

It was out there now, between them. She'd done it of her own free will and not some stupid slip of a tongue. And Carol took a moment to respond but she certainly reacted quickly enough, with that little stuttering breath, pursed lips to repress what Helen hoped was a smile. Her voice came out wavering and high-pitched. “Really?”

 _Yes, really, you idiot. I love you._ Had no one ever said that to her? It boggled Helen's mind that such a fucking lovable person had never known what it was like to have someone love her back fully; never heard the actual words. It hurt, too, that she was one of those dickheads.

“I miss you so _fucking_ much.” Settling for blunt honesty, she moved forward, itching to reach out and touch, or hold, or kiss the woman in front of her but it was too soon, way too soon.

Her whole chest tightened when she saw the smile on Carol's face; it was the first one she'd seen for months and it was given to her, nobody else. “I miss you too.”

_All I want now is to show you I love you every single day._

But then swish of a door put a quick halt to any further sentiments and some asshole lawyer (probably) marched in on a mission to piss.

Helen didn't really pay all that much attention to what happened next. Everything seemed like a blur of honesty and vulnerability and she just kept talking, admitting to Carol some of the ways she made her weak. The bed thing was huge. Only her shrink (and her housekeeper) knew about that particular problem because it was embarrassing that the absence of one overwrought woman from one 3-week-long relationship managed to break her in such a permanent way. She heard herself going on about _Carol_ , the film for some reason. Of all the things she could have told real Carol, she chose that. Like, it was hot and it kept reminding her of real-life Carol but it wasn't _that_ great, you know, as a film.

Carol visibly relaxed and leaned against the countertop, her shoulders falling a bit and her fingers twisting together. There was a wince on her face that belayed potential bad news however and Helen steeled her nerves just enough. But when Carol began speaking, talking about how she'd kept that blue James Perse t-shirt because it smelled like her, Helen gave up on feeling anything remotely normal. Her heart was pounding against her ribcage and her blood was rushing in her ears.

_She loves me._

 

In her mind, she remembered walking into her bedroom one night and Carol was sitting cross-legged on top of the duvet, wearing nothing except that damn oversized t-shirt and punching random buttons on the remote control, trying to get Netflix to turn on. She grinned up at that point and threw the remote to Helen, insisting that child-lock devices weren't necessary in houses that did not have children in them anymore. Really, Carol was just an idiot when it came to new technology. (The woman still used that ancient Blackberry from 2013, for fucks sake.)

She hadn't been wearing the t-shirt for much longer. The next morning, Helen had it on instead fora few hours as they had lazed around the house, and that was actually the last time she'd seen it.

 

_She loves me._

Vaguely, she could hear Carol's concerned voice asking if she wanted it back. No. _Never._ Not if she could have that image back in her life instead. That t-shirt was nothing if Carol wasn't wearing it.

So, instead of laying it on so thick, Helen let her body make the decisions instead.

Soft. That was the first thing she noticed. Raspberry, that was the second. Vomit, yeah, that was the third. But she couldn't care less about that sour bit since Carol's lips moved against hers and there was that fucking tiny moan that prompted a rush of warmth straight down her spine and between her legs, but even more, the trembling sort of feeling in her chest. Helen's hand slipped up to cup her jaw, pulling the blonde closer and she felt the tentative grip on her elbow in response.

It was too good to be true. It had to be. Any second now she'd blearily peer over the blue LED alarm clock on her guestroom bedside table and it would read 3:21 AM and the tearing ache would grow bigger and more crushing until the sheer emptiness took over.

Suddenly there was a rush of cool air and the space between them multiplied, with two small hands blocking the way. “Wait.”

For a brief moment, Helen felt her blood go cold because it may not be an empty bed, but Carol backing away and waving her off seemed just as ominous. As she breathed into her own hands, it became clear and so silly that Helen had to laugh. “Oh, I need a mint.”

“You're fine.” She wasn't, not really. It was a bit vomit-y. But Helen would gladly deal with a little tiny bit of sourness (mixed with raspberry of course) if she got to kiss Carol again, and again, and again. She could hold out until the other woman got a toothbrush, or a mint, or a better drink of water. So the offer from the toilet peanut gallery was appreciated but they really needed to stay in the moment. And besides, she wanted Carol to feel confident and not regret anything. That was probably the most important thing to her at this point.

So, she tried again, pulling Carol in gently, carefully, giving her room to back away if she didn't want it. The opposite happened. She felt the warmth of Carol's body leaning into the kiss instead of away and when she pulled back, not wanting to push too hard, there was that cute, contented little smile she'd missed so fucking much and her heart leapt into her throat at the sight.

“I want another chance.”

“No.”

It was too much but she couldn't help herself. The way Carol had kissed her back (oh god, she'd missed that more than she even realized before), the way she smelled, the way she tasted, the way she smiled, and the way her voice made the rest of the world fade away, the way everything just felt _right_ with her around. It all crumbled when the words fell out of her disloyal mouth and scared the shit out of Carol.

“You _wrecked_ me.”

The words seemed simple and small but they walloped Helen hard in the gut, especially as she realized she had no excuse. There was nothing she could do anymore except take it in, accept it, own it, and change.

“I'm so fucking sorry.” It's all she had left. Amie hadn't given her much else to work with other than acceptance and responsibility. But Carol deserved better; she deserved so much more than Helen, and they both knew it, deep down. So, instead of giving up (she hated that) and instead of playing games (she loved those), she tried something new to her.

Helen Basch got down on her metaphorical knees to beg.

Firstly, it was a bathroom so it's not like she'd literally do that. Secondly, as grand a gesture as it may be, it was probably a bit too dramatic. They didn't actually live in a prime-time sitcom. She'd seen the glistening of tears in Carol's eyes and it fucking killed her that she was the cause. A few months ago, right when they'd broken up, she probably would have revelled in the sight but now she saw it as the abhorrent and shameful thing it really was. And she just kept begging, on and on. And the really shocking thing, even to her own ears? Every damn word was the truth.

All the while, she could see the struggle plainly. Carol's face kept wriggling back and forth between frowning, concern, and hopeful smiles that she valiantly attempted to restrain until finally giving it. Never had that nasally “Oh, fuck it,” sounded quite as beautiful. And then Carol kissed her, not the other way around. She had waited and been patient and loudly honest like Amie had insisted she learn how to do, and... it ended up with the woman she loved lunging forward to kiss her.

It was the best fucking feeling in the entire goddamn world.

The face she met afterwards was pensive, quiet, obviously rolling thoughts around in her head so Helen waited and attempted to hold back any elation that was bubbling through her body at the feeling. The silence seemed to stretch out longer than she could bear, especially when Carol was staring at her mouth like that.

“All right.”

Carol laid it all out, all her demands and Helen would absolutely do every single thing she asked. She could ask Helen to roll around naked in a giant tub of Goober Grape and she wouldn't fucking think twice. But there was nothing as ridiculous as that coming from Carol. Just simply: slow the fuck down. _Slow_. And there she was again about that fucking dog thing. Yeah, she could do slow. Especially with some serious coaching from her shrink. She could do it. Yeah. _Slow_.

“We don't even have to sleep together until—” Yes. She was willing to go there; it was the least she could do.

“I never said _that_!” Carol sounded incredulous, and gave her a toothy smile.

Oh, thank fucking Christ. “So, this is happening?” She would take baby steps if that's what it took to get this going again. No hesitation. But it had to be Carol's call; she wouldn't take anything else, not after the last time. Everything about their possible relationship was in Carol's hands this time around.

“ _Slow-ly_.”

“But happening?”

“But happening.”

This kiss was different now. Carol wasn't as tentative: her hands easily slid around Helen's waist like they'd just found their way home, and holy shit, as if it didn't feel like that's exactly where they were meant to be. What began slowly soon took on a slightly distinctive, more determined air as Carol shifted even closer. Kissing Carol like this made everything in the world seem tilted. Her fingers were tangled in blonde hair and her breath just kept being sucked up, literally leaving her breathless.

From the eavesdropper in the bathroom stall, she could hear, “Congratulations!”

They needed to get the fuck out of here.

 


	7. “It's a bit weird.”

The TV hummed quietly in the living room, as some program about street food in Thailand flashed colourful images of steaming snacks. Helen could barely pay attention, and quite frankly, wasn't interested in the show anyway. She'd had dinner already, and even the draw of a sticky, tropical climate full of cheap drinks and warm ocean waters did nothing for her at the moment. There was another fixation of interest and she was a perky blonde bundle of nerves who probably, at this minute, was also lying on her own sofa at her own house. Probably watching some stupid home renovation reality show as she normally did on lazy evenings.

Obviously after reconciling somewhat with Carol, there had been a lot of bullshit to get done, mostly to do with angry lawyers being angry, and angry Elliot being angry at both the angry lawyers and Helen, who was the very opposite of angry for once. It was just a very strange situation to find herself in but it did require a great deal of yelling. Not on her part, at any rate. She merely sat back and tuned out the barrage of insults and questions about her sanity and motivations lost in her own daydreaming about what had just happened in the bathroom. They hadn't really made any definite plans but there was the hope, the insinuation that there would be more to come, and Carol walked off with Beverly and Helen drew a deep, steadying breath, preparing to face a surely furious Harry.

She'd gone back to work for the rest of the day and studiously ignored every single curious sideways glance from approximately each one of the staff in the office. There were a very subtle questions, digs to get some juicy bit of gossip to spread around the office like Ebola. She didn't even fill Patti in on anything. All anyone knew was that she was back earlier than expected and a bit of a bounce in her step. Thankfully, that could mean absolutely anything, and likely they would come to the opposite conclusion as the truth was.

Then Amie. She had to visit Amie after leaving the office because obviously she needed to be filled on the entire day and it was simply too much to leave in a 2-minute voicemail.

So now, she was calm and bored and trying not to fixate on how much had actually happened in a matter of hours. Slow. She'd agreed to slow so slow it would be. Amie insisted that she actually stand by that promise or else the relationship was doomed to failure for sure. But time was passing really slowly as well...

The clock on the DVR glowed a slightly ominous 9:42 PM, letting her know exactly how slow time was passing and how long it would be until her next distraction: work. Her fingers slid along the smooth side of her phone, itching to turn it over.

“Fuck it.”

Her fingers swept unconsciously through her passcode and easily into her contacts to tap quickly on the number before changing her mind. It was probably a terrible idea so giving herself even a split-second to think about was going to get her to bail on her plan. The phone to her ear, she waited as it rang, ignoring the slight trembling in her hands. 3 rings. 4.

“Hello?”

She couldn't believe she'd actually done it but just hearing the simple sound made her blood rush warm and a flutter in her chest. “Hey you.”

“Hi.” Carol's voice came out relieved, like a gentle sigh. And then there was a slight chuckle. “What's up?”

So weird. So fucking weird to be having a conversation like this, especially since just 24 hours earlier she was preparing all sorts of stress control and coping techniques for even seeing her again. “Not much. Just watching TV. You?”

Carol hummed a bit. “Same. Bored.”

“Lemme guess...”

“Oh no...”

Helen glanced at the time again and squinted, searching her memory. “Property Brothers.”

Carol laughed and Helen couldn't help the way her own lips broke out into a smile just at the sound. “That's not fair. You have to know the schedule of every network in prime time by heart.”

“Well, it _is_ my job,” she said with a smile. “And you are very predictable.”

A silence drifted into the conversation because really, it's not like they had really talked. Not properly and there was still a bit of strain of unsaid words.

Another sigh slipped through the phone. “It's a bit weird.”

Helen nodded and realized that nobody could see her. “It is a bit weird.” There was no more animosity but it wasn't possible to fix a months-long bitter estrangement with dropping a “love” bomb and a few kisses in a law firm bathroom. They needed one of those really long, difficult talks where they hashed out a bunch of crap... and then had mind-blowing sex afterwards all night long. Sadly, the words “slowly” and “sex” didn't tend to go together, but hard talking would have to come sooner rather than later. That's what Amie had said anyway. And she was pretty certain it's what Carol needed.

“Yeah.”

She wished it was easier, like they could just fall back into how it used to be. She could call Carol up at any time of the day or night (which was never necessary since they spent a night apart in all their weeks together) and shoot the shit like they'd been friends, or more, for years. She had to do something.

“Do...” Holy hell. She literally forgotten how to ask someone on a proper date. “Would you like to...”

Carol started giggling on the other end of the line, using that sharp mind of hers to rescue what was left of Helen's dignity. “Yeah. Yeah. I will.”

“Oh, Jesus, thank you.” Helen couldn't help the embarrassed laugh from escaping, and sighed. “What works for you? Dinner?”

“That sounds nice.” There was a slight waver in the voice, as if she was nervous too and Helen couldn't help wishing that they could just get over this awkward part and back onto the good stuff. But in the meantime, she'd settle for just being able to talk for a few strange minutes with Carol instead.

“Are you busy tomorrow night?” Maybe she was being pushy but honestly? She was excited. That was all there was to it. She literally could not wait to see Carol again, and the thought that maybe it could be another week or two before they had a chance to talk would too much to bear. She already knew that sleep would be trying enough tonight. A whole week of this unwavering tension would kill her.

“I am never busy anymore.”

Ouch. The words hadn't come out with any poison in them, if fact it sounded like a joke almost, but Helen felt it all the same. “Okay, good. Want me to pick you up... or meet me there?” She had to give Carol options for everything. That was the way to pass the power back to Carol and make her feel in control of the speed and direction of any potential relationship. Said Amie. These were all very common sense things of course but Helen probably wouldn't have even considered them on her own. She was used to taking charge and plowing ahead into things. That was precisely how she got to where she was professionally.

The idea was to give Carol an out, much like their first time. If she drove herself, she could leave and not face any pressure or weird expectation and they could just enjoy the time together without any stress. (It was probably going to be stressful enough without the heavy weight of “What happens next?”) And she'd been preparing herself for the worst as well because as much as she could dream up lovely situations and a happy ending to the date, it was also possible that it wouldn't go so well.

A minute seemed to pass in complete silence before Carol broke it. “I'll go with you.”

Helen had to take a breath and withhold any sound of relief. She settled her excitement with a concentrated effort. “Okay. I'll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good.”

“All right. I'll let you go back to your Property Brothers then,” Helen smiled and tried not to let the desire to talk all night come through. “Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Helen?”

“Yeah, h—?” She had to cut herself off before she let even the most innocuous of pet names slip out.

There was a brief pause before a quiet murmur came out. “I'm glad you called.”

“Oh, fuck, good.” Jesus, thank god. Her blood pressure had slowly been rising during the phone call and now she could feel her heart slowing just a little. Hearing Carol's gentle laugh definitely helped calm any fears. “Well, I'm glad you answered.” More than ever, she wished they weren't on the phone but face to face because she would kiss her right now. Softly, and forever.

“I'll probably answer tomorrow too.”

 _I love you_. That's it. That's all she really wanted to say but hung on the line, biting her tongue and trying to find some way to say it without saying it. “Good. I look forward to it.”

“Me too.”

“Have a good night,” she sighed. “Talk to you tomorrow then.”

“All right. Night.”

It was so unfamiliar to say good night to Carol like this. It had always been face to face, lying in bed, able to kiss her and touch her and see her face smiling from the nest of pillows. She'd been able to curl up around Carol, or the other way, and just be warm and relaxed and not worry about how the next day she wouldn't know what to say, or worry about how awkward it could be. Well, in fairness, there had been one night like that and that was just the first one. She really had no idea how Carol was going to react the morning after to that one, but it turned out, it had been very well.

“Night.” Helen tapped her phone off before she let anything else slip out. Her fingers flexed, grasping at nothing but empty air. It made her a bit sad and she turned up the volume on the TV again, willing herself to stop wondering about all the possibilities of the coming day.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the phone slapping down into its cradle was the most satisfying thing she'd experienced all day. After hours and fucking hours of conference calls with lawyers and board members and more lawyers, she'd finally wrangled something of a solution to the current lawsuit predicament. Obviously Carol was dropping the suit. She really couldn't have a case if she was reigniting that same relationship but there was still the issue of her career, and the liability of the network in the first place when it came to interoffice affairs. Elliot obviously was fuming at her, and at Carol, and just generally at anyone within earshot. (His poor secretary. She could hear him screaming at her over the speakerphone.)

Andy swished into her office, a smirk on his face and his ever-present phone in his hand. “Hi, boss.”

Was this the best time? No. She wanted to just close up shop and get the fuck out of the office. After all, there was a very important date she had to mentally prepare for and maybe do a little bit of pre-drinking to calm her rabid nerves. “Andy.”

“You look good.” He gestured to her with a swipe of his finger and she couldn't decide how inappropriate he was being because it clearly wasn't meant in a malicious way. Did she somehow look different? Okay, she had put more effort into her hair and make-up today, and although she didn't feel any more rested than previous weeks, she felt happier. “Big day?”

“Andy,” she growled. They weren't friends. She had no desire to shoot the shit with the biggest gossip in the entire building. She was still the president of the network and just because he had slid into Carol's role with the ease of a serpent didn't mean he really could hold Carol's place in her life, professionally or otherwise.

“Just heard the news, that's all.” He hummed a bit, narrowing his eyes at her. “Also I've got the final cast list from Michelle for the _Catnip_ pilot.”

“The what?”

“The drunk cat lady alien dramedy for Wednesdays...” He fidgeted a little bit.

Her good mood fell substantially at just the idea she'd green-lighted something like that and worse that she had absolutely no memory of doing so. “Who gave that the go ahead?” Maybe he'd taken it upon himself somehow. She wouldn't put it past Andy to slime his way slowly into her position, inch by inch.

“You did.”

“Was I drunk?”

“Mmm.” He grimaced and shrugged. “Maybe? It was after lunch.”

“Oh, fuck.” With a resigned sigh, she smacked her pen down and pushed back in her chair.

He winced. “Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I can't deal with that right now. We'll... we'll worry about that fucking mess another day. Shit.” Helen closed her eyes momentarily, hoping Andy would have got the message and have disappeared from her space. No such luck. He was still standing there, weirdly staring at her and waiting. Her phoned dinged with a text message and she resisted the urge to check it immediately. She knew who she hoped it was and she definitely did not want to have an audience for that. He quirked an eyebrow in the direction of the sound.

“Is there something else, Andy?” I want to go home.

“Well,” he started conspiratorially and leaned into her desk. “A little bird told me—”

“Please, stop.” She glared at him, wishing she could physically push him out of her office. “You and I, Andy, I'm your boss. And I'm not Carol. And I'm not going to chit chat with you about anything that isn't directly related to the work were do here.” He stepped back. “So, whatever you're going to say or ask, just don't.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, he nodded. “That answers it then.” And then the little asshole had the gall to wink at her before turning on his heels and stepping out. When he got to the doorway, he waved his fingers. “Have a good date.” And then he ran.

 


	8. “I just never thought we'd be here again.”

The slickness of sweaty palms was not a familiar feeling for Helen Basch and when her right hand slipped off the steering wheel as she turned into Carol's driveway, there was a moment of confusion. As her foot hit the brake, she quickly wiped both hands on the sides of car seat. The leather wasn't particularly absorptive but it was better than nothing. She wasn't really a dress person so she'd opted for a nice pair of slacks, a more casual floral blouse, and a svelte black blazer. None of which she wanted to wipe sweaty hands on. She took one deep breath, then another, and considered just texting Carol that she was outside so nobody would have to see how wobbly her legs were (not even herself). Instead she closed her eyes, took one more breath, and stepped out of the Mercedes. Was this what 17-year-old boys felt like on prom night? It was actually a bit excruciating.

Too formal. Too weird. But she rang the doorbell anyway. There was the soft yellow glow from inside but she specifically refused to peek in like a creep through the glass. The click of the door opening gave her a jump and probably a mini-stroke but nothing had prepared her for actually seeing Carol again. It had felt like 2 years since yesterday and as Carol stepped out onto the doorstep and locked the door behind her, Helen struggled to find her breath or any words whatsoever. As the blonde turned back to her, she did all she could manage.

“Wow.”

A flush of pink swept up Carol's neck and she dodged Helen's appreciative gaze, looking down at her own black mini dress. “It's nice enough?”

All sorts of warning bells rang deafeningly in her head about being too pushy and too forward and scaring Carol off again but she couldn't quite help herself. Not anymore. “Of course. You look... _amazing_.”

“Well,” Carol shrugged and made a silly face, looking off to the side, uncomfortable and unfamiliar with the sincere compliments. Her necklace glistened in the porch light, accenting the off-the-shoulder number that caused Helen's pulse to race.

“So, wanna head out?” Really, at this point, Helen would have been happy just to pop down to the nearest Mexican food truck and pick up a few burritos to bring them home. It would allow her to stare at Carol with far less distraction, and holy fuck did she just want to absorb Carol without any interruption.

“Absolutely.” Carol was already at the car, hand on the door handle. “Where are we going anyway?”

 

* * *

 

They were nearly through their mains and Carol was smiling, talking, and not chugging down glasses of wine—which would have been a huge red flag. She took her time eating and every time her blue eyes met Helen's there was a little rush up her spine. Even with the occasional awkward and inevitable silence, this was going far better than Helen had honestly expected, and that was even after talking about some difficult bits, like what Carol had been up to. She was still cagey about certain things but in time, maybe her trust would grow. Helen wasn't about to push for every detail; she was content to be the one spilling her guts about all the shit she had brought onto herself, and the lessons learned. But luckily, that hadn't been the majority of their conversation.

The whole thing was probably helped along by the fact that they weren't strangers; they'd done this eating out thing numerous times. So many lunches, quite a few dinners, a weekend brunch here and there. That didn't even take into account the take-out food and nights spent stoned, chowing down on whatever happened to be lying around.

The view of the beach and the ocean breeze felt like the perfect choice for calming frazzled and highly-strung nerves and it was times like these that Helen remembered why she enjoyed Santa Monica so much... in moderation.

“So, your friend Andy Button seems to think he knows something,” she started, amusement in her voice and Carol rolled her eyes.

“He knows everything—well, everything that nobody actually needs to know.”

Helen took a sip of her red and shook her head. “Why? How?”

“I think he's actually psychic but only for completely trivial gossip. Probably runs some online chat room with the Andys from all the other networks.” Carol put her utensils down, staring down at her finished plate for a second before meeting Helen's eyes again.

The older woman chuckled. “That's scary.”

“But very possible!”

A comfortable silence fell across the table as Carol took a small drink and gazed across at Helen, a small smirk on her face. The attention wasn't unwanted but it was a bit strange. She wished perhaps she had some of Andy's supernatural psychic abilities.

“What?”

Carol sighed, cocking her head to the side. “Nothing.” She placed her wine glass down gently. “I just never thought we'd be here again.”

Placing her fork down, Helen took a breath. “Neither did I... but I'm glad we are.” She knew she couldn't say sorry again. She'd said it a few days ago, and already said it multiple times already tonight. There was such thing as overkill but she sometimes felt like it would never be enough to fully express how apologetic she truly was. It also took all her willpower not to reach out and take one soft hand in hers. But they weren't there yet, probably. She didn't really know but she was still waiting for a sign from Carol that they were ready to take each new baby step in the process of forgiveness.

Carol bit down on her bottom lip for a brief moment and shifted in her seat as she fiddled with the napkin on her lap. Maybe the hard stuff was about to begin because of course the evening had to be too good to be true.

“This is nice.” She winced in the dim glow of candles and mood lighting and even such a shaky expression looked gorgeous on her. “I haven't been out for dinner in... months. Not since...”

That night probably. One of their last nights together, they'd decided on a last-minute venture to Cliff's Edge, all dressed up. Date night. Not that they really needed to specify since at that point in their relationship, every night no matter what they did felt like date night to Helen. They'd managed to get nice and tipsy and Helen remembered how, as they stumbled onto the sidewalk and waited for a cab, Carol had pulled her in and kissed her hard, right there in the street, trying not to giggle. It was perhaps one of the happiest moments of Helen's adult life, those few seconds with Carol all over her in the warm spring air, tasting sweet like crème brulee and pinot grigio.

“Right.”

“Barely been to lunch either, for that matter.”

Helen couldn't tell if this was a guilt trip or just sharing out of trust and instead of her usual leaping to conclusions, she heard Amie's voice insisting to pause, and give Carol the benefit of the doubt for a change. There was a wistfulness in the other woman's voice that made her glad for the advice. “We can change that.”

A hesitant smile spread across her lips. “Really?”

“Of course.” She would make the awful, aggravating drive from the office out to Carol's place in the middle of the day everyday if that's what it took. She'd wrangle rush-hour bumper to bumper traffic after work to just see the smile on Carol's face when she got one of those shitty jelly doughnuts or greasy churros from that vendor around the corner. It wasn't fine dining, but it didn't matter at all. “Just name the time and place. Anytime.”

Her cheeks seemed to redden just a little. “I'll hold you to that.”

Helen felt the pull of a smile stretched across her own lips and moved her napkin off her lap. Settling the cheque took no time and Carol waited patiently, finishing the last drops of her wine, her eyes sparkling like she had a secret. If it had been a few months ago, Helen would know exactly what that look meant and she knew they would be back at her place in a few minutes, hands all over each other. But this wasn't then and things were different, slower, gentler now.

 

* * *

 

Even after the sun had gone down, the night was still warm even with the sea breeze, and the sound of waves crashing at high tide in the distance brought a sense of calm to her otherwise whirling thoughts. Carol walked quietly next to her, bumping against her once in a while as they ambled down the concrete promenade, avoiding the busier stretch of beach path. A few skateboarders lurched by, smacking their boards noisily against ledges and causing Helen to blurt out a few choice words at them for the reckless behaviour. Down by the water, there was a fisherman waiting by his line as some teenagers ran screaming down the beach, splashing in the surf nearby. Every night was bustling but this one was thankfully a little less crowded than usual.

It had been Carol's idea to prolong the date a bit by taking a stroll down the beach and Helen was more thankful than she would let on.

“I really would miss this,” she murmured, gazing around at the empty sand and beachfront apartments.

Helen wasn't sure what to make of the comment. She suspected it wasn't about their relationship but nothing was for sure now and she resisted the desire to take Carol's hand in hers. “What?”

“L.A.” She looked around again, sighed, and glanced at Helen. “I—well, I'm not sure what I'm doing anymore but I was planning on moving back to Michigan.” Her voice was weak, like she was embarrassed to admit her plans.

The idea was horrifying and Helen had to withhold a deep frown. Just as she had thought she'd got Carol back, it turned out the blonde had other plans. Ones that didn't involve a relationship moving forward. “Why?” Hopefully her voice wasn't as scared as she felt inside.

Shrugging, Carol kicked at a pebble. “I don't know. 'Cause of everything that happened, I'm broke and can't get a job—no thanks to you—so there's not really anything left.”

Ouch. That fucking stung, mostly because Helen was completely lost and had no idea what prompted that attack. “What are you talking about?”

Carol chuckled, an angry, disbelieving huff of breath escaping and suddenly it was plainly clear that not all their issues had been even remotely addressed. “Like you don't know.”

“Honestly?” Helen was getting a bit defensive and irritable so she paused just for a second to calm herself. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, come on. You must have said things to people you know, at like, other networks. I'm dead in this town. Nobody will hire me; I can't even get a callback for an interview. So, thanks.” This obviously was the part that had been building up inside her. This was what inspired the lawsuit. It hadn't been about rights or ethics or revenge even. But she was really going after the wrong person, at least for this particular problem.

Helen stopped in the middle of the walkway, tugging on Carol's elbow to get her to face her. Like a petulant child, Carol refused to meet her stare initially. “You think... I—what? Talked shit to everyone about you? You're the one who quit for another job that didn't exist. I didn't say a single thing to anyone about you, or us, or your job performance. Nothing.”

“Yeah right,” Carol's eyes looked a bit misty and Helen knew this could get ugly really quickly if they didn't find some way to talk about this without anger. She could handle the blame part of it (she deserved some of that), but miscommunication was going to be the nail in the already incredibly fragile coffin.

“Look,” she tried again, softer and she pulled Carol over to the ledge to sit down beside her. The concrete was cold under her and she hated that they had to do this here. The blonde winced too at the cold stone against her bare legs. “You really think I wanted _anybody_ to know about what happened between us? It was horrible and I was angry, sure, but I was humiliated more than anything. The last thing I'd ever do is draw more attention to that.”

Carol pretended not to be listening and turned her face away, staring blankly at the shrubs across the path.

“Nobody came to me for a reference, or even an off-the-record phone call.” Unless Patti had hidden some message from her, as far as Helen knew, there hadn't even been one interested party. “And I certainly didn't bitch to any acquaintance like that, especially none that would be in any position to hire you.”

The crossed arms and set jaw were all the indication Helen needed that Carol needed more persuasion. Why couldn't telling the truth just be all it took? “I don't know what went on with any jobs you went for. But I didn't have anything to do with any of them.” She sighed, clasping her hands together on her lap. “I can't make you believe me, and I know trust is in short supply, but I have no intention of starting this— _us_ —off with a lie.”

“Seriously?” Her shoulders slumped as she squinted towards Helen in the dim street light. She looked a bit meek, apologetic maybe.

“Seriously.” Helen couldn't be certain that someone else from the network didn't do or say something but she knew it was never her. It could have been Elliot or Andy or Myra or, well, anybody. Even Beverly Lincoln making an off-hand comment in the writer's room or while walking through a studio corridor could spiral these things out of control. These things had a way of getting around even when the two people involved specifically refused to discuss them.

“Yeah, well, I'm still broke.”

Helen wondered when the day would come when therapists could actually be inside your head when you need them because it sure would be nice to hear what Amie had to say about this. There were a lot of things that she was aching to say, things that would likely terrify Carol at this point—even though they actually seemed fairly reasonable in her mind. Things like, 'Maybe you should sell your house if you need money and move in with me.' Oh yeah, Helen, that would go over like a rotten sack of potatoes. There was the slightly less extreme, and that involved offering Carol her job back but even that was probably too much too soon. And fuck, Elliot would probably have a stroke, and a heart attack. He would die. Hmm. Maybe she should offer it to Carol. This sort of bullshit is why Amie needed to be around at all times because other than these two very bad ideas, she couldn't come up with any other response.

A tangy taste of iron touched her tongue and she realized she'd been biting down on it. Too hard.

“If you can hang on a little while, I might be able to do something about that.” Good, Helen. Nice and vague. She had a few ideas that weren't so terrible but she would need time to arrange it. Anything to encourage Carol not to move away to fucking Michigan. That would be the end of them for sure. She knew if it was good for Carol, she should be supportive no matter what but the problem was she didn't think it was good. It sounded like an idiotic idea that could have no possible benefit to absolutely anybody.

Carol's eyes went wide and her hands jumped out to grasp Helen's forearm. “Oh god, no. That's not—that's not why I wanted _this_ —”

A shiver shot up her arm and whirled around in her chest as she sucked in a breath. Such a simple touch was capable of physically and emotionally disarming her in seconds. Touch-starved would be a mild way of putting her life lately.

“I know. But it's on me, right? Let me take care of it.” That was the crux of the whole matter, in the end. Helen was the one who had gone too fast and pushed too hard; she was the one who freaked out and dumped Carol, completing the shit sundae with making her professional life miserable; she was the one who made Carol quit a perfectly good job that she was brilliant at for a make-believe offer from a crazy person. The least she could do was help the other woman out, even in a small way. (It was going to be a big way but that was a secret that could be kept without hurting anyone.)

Next to her, she felt the tremble of Carol shivering in the cooling ocean air. She stood up and held out a hand, smiling. “Come on. I'll drive you home.”

She slid out of her blazer, offering it to Carol. There was a look on the younger woman's face that Helen couldn't quite place; almost worried but also grateful. As she slipped it on and pulled it tightly around herself, she had a look of contentment on her face. “Thanks.”

 

 


	9. “Someone obviously has to save you from yourself.”

It was a well-known fact that if you are newly in love, everything else in the world seems brighter and more beautiful and hopeful. By the way her pulse quickened when a certain name popped up on her homescreen or the way her body trembled just that little bit when waiting to meet up with that same person, anyone would think that they'd only just started dating. Well, sort of. But there was that whole thing of the previous months of sleeping together, practically living together, then breaking up and being apart, then getting back together. Her legs seemed to bounce of their own accord as she strolled airily back into her office after a wonderful lunch.

It had been a few days since the night at the beach, since she'd dropped Carol off at home and just let things take their very slow course. ( _Incredibly_ _slow_ course.) No sex, no sleepovers, no nicknames, nothing. Just a few phone calls. One dinner. Now, two lunches. Honesty was supposed to be the best policy but Helen figured that telling Carol flat-out how much she wanted to get her naked, sweaty, and just bury her face between Carol's thighs for hours on end was probably moving things a bit too fast. So, instead, she settled for a nice, innocent lunch and negotiating with Elliot and the legal department about potentially reinstating Carol at the network.

Stupid. So stupid. She shook her head, forcing the invasive thoughts from her busy mind but her quiet phone beside her seemed to be taunting her just with its mere presence. Snatching it up, she ignored the incoming emails and swiped through it. It had only been an hour or so but her traitorous fingers didn't give a shit.

_Miss you already._

Yes. Sent.

Fuck. Was there a way to unsend a text?

What a shitty, stupid, fucking idea.

She paused as she hovered over the number for her shrink. _Oh, yeah. Now you hesitate, you stupid idiot_. Instead of facing the reality of what she just did however, she turned her phone face down and pretended nothing had just happened. Firstly, when the hell did she turn into a 16-year-old girl who no filter and some impulsive need to cling? Secondly, fuck this shit. Grown adults should not be behaving this way: sending needy texts and avoiding the results and generally carrying on like lovesick morons. She slowly pushed the phone ever further from her with a finger, and simply stared at it until there was a knock on her door.

“Come in!”

And then Maurice, Lily, Andy, and Myra were all there, standing around, going on about something to do with the pilot for that imbecilic alien cat lady piece of crap that she accidentally (drunkenly) signed off on. Well, maybe this was for the best. It would be a mess and she would be fired and Carol could come back and take her job and then, wow, the world and karma would get its revenge. Maybe that's how things were just meant to be.

Maurice was going on about the demo numbers and something about the censors' issues with... something. It honestly didn't matter because that's why she had this team: to deal with these sorts of things themselves and leave her alone unless something went terribly wrong. Surely between the four of them, they could figure something out. Lily chimed in about the standards committee and... ugh. Who cared? Nobody. Nobody gave a flying fuck about any of this except those crazy Jesus freak fucks on the internet who had to complain about every time even the shadow of an erect nipple was seen through a woman's top. What part of drunken alien cat lady did people honestly think wasn't going to garner some outraged offence from obnoxious Puritan teetotallers and self-proclaimed proud cat ladies alike?

Then again, this was the same crack development team that thought “Wright and Wong” wasn't even remotely racist. Maybe she was giving them a bit too much credit.

Helen let out a long sigh and closed her eyes as the voices clamoured around her ears, complaining, begging, arguing, whatever it was they thought they were doing. An hour ago she was sitting at Ostrich Farm, in the sunshine streaming in through the window, across from the grinning woman casually wearing the blazer she still hadn't given back since Santa Monica, who was most likely the love of her life. She didn't want to jump too far ahead of herself but seriously, there was no other reason she could think of that explained all the crap she'd gone through and the way she literally felt like exploding when Carol came into view. And wow, it was worse than before for sure. There was something to be said for losing something. That old adage about how you don't know what you've got until it's gone? Yeah, that was pretty much the epiphany she needed. Still, she couldn't be certain Carol felt quite the same way so it was best to just keep that big lump of emotionality to herself for the time being.

Her phone was ominously silent. Not a single vibration.

“Okay, stop stop stop,” she finally groaned, holding her hands up in surrender. “Why are you bringing me this?” That headache she'd been accustomed to for the last few months was slowly building up pressure in her temples again.

“We think—” Andy began.

“No, stop thinking. Start doing.” Wasn't he meant to be Carol's temporary replacement? Shouldn't he be able to handle this conflict himself?

Then Helen's phoned began vibrating loudly against her desktop, slowly creeping across the surface. It wasn't just a text. That was likely... Why were these idiots still here? Allowing the call to go to voicemail didn't seem like the best idea after sending such an incendiary text so she grabbed at it and swiped it on.

“Hey.” She waved a hand to shoo her underlings away from her but they didn't budge, instead fixated on their boss and her personal phone call.

There was a longer than usual pause on the other end until a soft murmur came out. “I miss you already too.”

Yep, there was the heart attack in progress. It was like her entire chest was on fire, cramping, aching but in the most wonderful possible way. Would these fuckers please leave? She tried shooing them off again, tossing out a death glare as well. Maurice and Lily thankfully turned and dawdled as slowly as possible out of the room. Andy purposefully lingered as he pretended to be checking his phone for something and Myra stood blankly, staring right back at her, a look of disgust on her face—as per usual.

“I'm glad,” she said, keeping her voice more even than she expected.

“You busy?”

“I won't be as soon as Andy and Myra get out of my office,” she intoned, snapping her fingers at them both. There was nothing that gave away exactly who she was talking with. It could be anyone from the network really. Nothing except the smile she was desperately attempting to restrain against every instinct in her body. Andy smirked all the same and pranced out of the office triumphantly with Myra on his heels and Helen rolled her eyes and got up to close the door behind them. “What's up?”

“Nothing much. How are you?”

Helen sat back down and sighed. _Overemotional. Horny. Tired. A bit lonely_. “Better now.”

“Bored?” There was an air of cheekiness to Carol's tone, and although she knew better, Helen couldn't stop the rush of warmth through her belly that settled somewhere deep between her legs. It's been almost a week of this tame back-and-forth, and yes, they had agreed to slooooooooooow but there was part of Helen that was itching for more. That _more_ hadn't been taken off the table but even Amie thought it would be for the best for Carol to take the lead on major movements. It was hell not having Carol at all; it was also sort of hellish to have Carol back and not be able to touch her.

She'd settle for mild flirting over the phone if that's what it had to be. Even with _Flip or Flop_ on in the background. “What do you think?”

“Slow day?” She sounded genuinely curious and there was a pang of guilt. This woman needed to work. She was meant for this industry and there was definitely a spot for her at the network, a gaping hole that was torn open when she left and even stuffing a whole bunch of other people into hadn't helped at all. “At least it's Friday.”

Helen closed her laptop with a click and spun in her chair to stare out across downtown L.A. “Yeah.” She remembered all too well that first full week together. Although she had started the Wednesday before, that full week with Carol was a learning experience with a very handy bonus at the end of it. “Another week down.” _Without you here_. She desperately wanted to ask Carol what she was doing in the evening but they'd already been to lunch today and seeing her again would probably be pushing it.

“So...” Carol trailed off. “Whatcha up to tonight?”

She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stall the immediate response that popped into her head. “I have some dailies to go through with some leftover pizza. Pretty exciting stuff.”

“Sounds super fun. Want some company?”

Bingo! “I would love some. And I can pick your brain about them.” She smirked. “I'll even get us some fresh pizza.”

“Thai?”

“Okay. Thai.” _Bring pajamas._

 _Actually, no, don't_.

 

* * *

 

Something about lazy Friday nights on the sofa made the rest of shitty world fade away, especially when she was full of Thai take-out and Carol was stretched out next to her, idly flipping through the original spec script for that fucking alien cat lady show and humming to herself. Her feet were clad in a pair of Helen's fluffy slipper socks with penguins on them as they rested on her lap. A small giggle came from the other end of the sofa and Carol lay the script down on her chest. “Oh my god. This is horrible!”

Helen was in the middle of tying up her hair into a messy bun and grinned over at her. “I know!”

She shook her head, still way too amused. “Why would you even buy this?”

“I don't even remember buying it and clearly there was no one there to stop me, other than Tweedledee and Tweedledum.”

Carol grimaced, but was still amused by it all. “Andy and Myra?”

“This never would have happened if you had been there,” she stated, and hoped it didn't come out accusatory, just realistic. She leaned forward and took another toke of the joint that was slowly burning away on the table.

With a lazy shrug of her shoulders, Carol picked up the script again. She muttered into it. “Make me an offer.”

Her heart leapt into her throat suddenly and how blasé Carol was about the possibility, as if it was something she would actually consider. “Seriously?”

“Well,” she began, smirking again at the older woman and waving the script at her. “Someone obviously has to save you from yourself.”

“And _you're_ that person?” she scoffed, grabbing her by the ankles and pulling her a few inches across the sofa. It was a beautiful sound to hear Carol's laughter tinkling out of her as she kicked her feet free and threw the shitty script in Helen's general direction.

“Can you think of anyone better?” She asked, winking and scooting over. The cushions dipped as Carol crept closer and Helen's false stoicism wavered with a whiff of her perfume. She was so tired of pretending this flirting-and-nothing-more thing wasn't driving her insane with want but she could see no way out of it without crossing boundaries that she was expressly told not to. Not by Carol, of course. But her shrink. In fact, it had been Carol that had been opposed to not sleeping together so for all her desire to move forwards slowly, it seemed like there were some exceptions.

“No.” There was nothing more to it. She couldn't think of a single person in the entire world that would be better to work beside her than this idiot, grinning widely at her like a smug little adorable asshole. “Nobody better than you.”

The quiet and calm of Helen's tone seemed to catch Carol off-guard as her huge smile fell into something more serious. There was a look in her blue eyes, something dark and hungry, with a twinge of pain?

Oh, fuck it. She pushed forward, pressing her lips to Carol's insistently, defiant against the voice of her therapist screaming shrilly in her head. Threading her hands through Carol's short hair felt heavenly enough on its own, but combined with the soft pulse of Carol's mouth against her own was sending her to quite another plane. Her skin prickled with heat, a throbbing buzz sweeping intensely through her chest and out to her fingertips. Every place Carol put her hands felt like it was on fire. There was a soft weight slowly falling on top of her, sinking her deeper into the plush cushions.

Shifting slightly, she pulled the blonde closer as a small moan vibrated outwards from Carol's throat. Then there was a wet tongue in her mouth and Helen couldn't hold back a pronounced groan of desire because fuck, it had been so long since she'd actually enjoyed this. Sooner than she anticipated, Helen found herself prone on the sofa with Carol resting above her, straddling her thighs, and she had to catch her breath for a moment and remind herself that this was actually her reality.

The younger woman paused too, breathing heavily as Helen's hands moved down, absently toying with the hem of her t-shirt. Helen sighed, gazing up at the dilated pupils and she had to know. “Are you sure about this?”

There was a nod followed by an impatient “Yeah.” Her voice was hoarse with want and Helen immediately felt wetness pool in her underwear.

“We can wait,” Helen tried again, hearing warning bells ringing and trying to find any way to silence them.

“Okay,” she agreed and the older woman felt her whole mood fall quickly. “Just for a minute. I've gotta...” She grimaced and shrugged. Ah, that.

“Right.” Maybe that would be a good idea for her as well although she really had no plans to allow Carol to do any work whatsoever tonight. This was about her, not Helen.

Before she could say anything more, Carol had clambered off the sofa and was on her way to the bathroom. Upstairs. Oddly enough. Helen could feel her heart beat slowing and her skin cooling down as she waited. And waited. And waited. Shit, Carol was flipping out again. For another minute, she sat, wondering what the next move was supposed to be because she wanted to respect Carol's space but... Dammit. Finally she huffed and stood up, finding her legs only a little bit weak but her hands were suddenly shaking. Just a little bit but enough to be noticeable to her.

Making her way upstairs, not knowing what the fuck was happening, was something out of her nightmares. They all ended the same way. Badly, obviously, usually with somebody screaming.

Instead down the hallway, Carol was standing in the doorway of the guestroom Helen regularly slept in now, just staring into it. Walking slowly towards her, she made sure to be loud enough that Carol wouldn't be startled. Coming up beside her, she peered in as well trying to figure out what had the blonde so mystified, touching Carol's arm lightly.

“That's your Kindle,” Carol stated plainly, nodding towards the nightstand. “And your water glass. And phone charger.”

She let it sink in slowly, and the woman beside her let out a long, sad sigh as she accepted the actual truth about the claim Helen had made in that law firm bathroom just under a week ago. “I told you... I was fucking _miserable_ without you.” She knew that when she'd admitted it then, it came out a bit flippantly, sort of like a joke but it truly hadn't been. And now Carol saw the honesty behind her words.

“Still?” Carol's voice caught a little with something resembling a hiccup.

Helen let an uncomfortable laugh escape and she fidgeted in the doorway. “I'm not very strong anymore.”

Carol's gaze met hers sharply, surprised at the blunt candor. She cocked her head to the side, eyes narrowing but there was a sympathetic concern there. That was always Carol's way: she had an incredibly soft heart, even to people who barely—if at all—deserved her compassion. She felt two warm hands encircle her waist like so many times before, but this seemed different, almost like Carol was offering some unnecessarily apology. There was no need for her to ever apologize for that time period.

“Don't,” Helen whispered, feeling her own eyes well up. _Please don't apologize; don't feel bad_. Instead of any more words, she sucked in a sharp breath as Carol kissed her again, deeply and ardently and she knew then that she didn't deserve this woman at all. As Carol pressed her body up against hers, gripping tighter, it felt like forgiveness.

Like a switch had been flipped somewhere, arousal surged through her veins as Carol bit down lightly on her lower lip. She failed to withhold a moan and Carol kissed her harder in response. Fuck, she wanted her so badly all over again and standing her in the doorway of her guestroom was the least sexy place she could currently think of. So bland. So full of uncomfortable realities. She directed Carol back into the hallway, slowly and purposefully.

“Your room?” Carol breathed out.

Helen nodded, sliding her lips down to Carol's neck, nipping and kissing and sucking just enough to cause Carol to squirm with desire but not enough to leave an ugly bruise. “Only if you're sure.”

“Yes, I'm fucking sure,” Carol growled breathlessly before dragging Helen's face up to hers and kissing her again.

As Helen caught her breath, smiling, she took Carol's hand and pulled her towards her actual bedroom. “Okay, come on.”

 

* * *

 

A really annoying chiming sound blast through the peace and quiet of the morning. Blearily, Helen forced her eyes open against the bright light and glanced over at the alarm clock. It was silent and glaring a surprising 10:00 AM at her. Well, it shouldn't actually be much of a shock considering they didn't even fall asleep until sometime after 5 in the morning. The irritating beep kept blaring off to her side. God, she was so tired. What the fuck... and then she remembered. That familiar chime which had been missing from her life for months.

Reaching a hand over, she gently jostled the bare shoulder of her bedmate. “Honey,” she grumbled, thick with sleep still. “Hon, you gotta go.”

Carol groaned, half-asleep, nestling deeper into the duvet and ignored the stupid alarm on her phone. Rolling over, Helen waited for a moment, just taking in the sight of that mop of messy blonde hair buried in a pillow and the bare, freckled back and smooth skin of the best thing to ever happen to her. She reached out, slid her hand under the blankets and shifted up against Carol's body, feeling how well they fit into each other. A small hum of pleasure drifted out and Helen couldn't help smiling despite how exhausted she was and how annoying that fucking phone was being. She kissed the back of Carol's neck, slowly, softly, moving down to her shoulder, nipping just a little to get her attention.

“You've gotta go.” She hated hearing those words coming out of her own mouth but she knew what the reminder was for.

Carol shook her head and yanked on Helen's hand, pulling it tighter around herself. “No.”

“Yeah, you do,” she whispered against Carol's skin.

“Why?”

That was definitely the cutest whine she'd ever heard.

“That's your alarm. It's hike time. With Beverly. Remember?”

The younger woman groaned, still grasping Helen's hand and moving to intertwine a leg with hers in some sort of morning-after pretzel. Her speech was slurred with exhaustion. “Don't wanna hike. Wanna stay with you.”

Helen loosened her fingers from Carol's and slid her hand down the dip of her soft waist, over a hip and down close, teasingly close, to where she knew Carol would rather her hands be. “Mmm. I want you to stay too.” She slipped her fingers around to the incredibly sensitive part of Carol's bare inner thigh. There was a bit of a push and the blonde moaned a little, moving her leg, attempting to manoeuvre Helen's fingers better. It wasn't going to work. “But you have to go.”

A huff answered her as Carol grabbed blindly for her stupid Blackberry, flicked off the alarm and tossed it somewhere on the floor with a dull thud. “Not anymore.”

She rolled over and took Helen's hand shoved it right back where she actually wanted it. No more teasing. No more fucking around. She was already (still?) so fucking wet. With a gasp, Helen froze for a moment, finally getting to meet Carol's eyes for the first time this morning. Her chest tightened just a little at the sight; it was something she'd never expected to ever see again—and especially not with her fingers moving slowly through slick folds as Carol mewled breathily and arched her hips closer. Warm hands journeyed up and Helen couldn't manage to resist closing her eyes as a thumb smoothed over a hard nipple. The way Carol touched her never failed to drive her fucking crazy, almost immediately. There was an enthusiasm and a desire to please and just something incredibly distinct that she'd only ever felt with this particular person. Something that she'd still not been able to describe in any appreciable way.

She simply enjoyed the sensation for a moment before easing Carol onto her back, kissing a trail down her neck. Only a few seconds later she could feel the hard grip around her biceps and the heaving of Carol's chest as she kissed over the swell of her breast, circling her tongue around a pink nipple. As she slipped two fingers easily into Carol's heat, eliciting that little gasp of pleasure, those wandering hands twirled tightly into her brown hair, arching her back to get more pressure from Helen's mouth. Carol was moaning and panting and gyrating against her hand, all the while holding Helen as close as possible.

Fucking heaven. That's what it was. She ground the ball of her hand against Carol's clit, provoking a loud moan that she could feel in her lips. As the grip in her hair loosened, she pulled upright slightly, getting better leverage as her fingers moved just enough to get Carol whimpering with want. Fingertips dug into her upper arm again in some paltry attempt to steady herself as her hips rocked more desperately with her head thrown back, with her eyes clenched shut.

“Oh god, oh god,” the blonde gasped as a thin sheen of sweat broke out over her skin. Helen moved just a little, reaching a different kind of pressure point.

Carol's eyes flew open and she grabbed onto the older woman's bare shoulder. “Oh, fuck, stop-stop-stop—I'm going to pee!”

Shaking her head with a smirk and chuckle, Helen slowed momentarily. “No, you're not.” She leaned down to the shell of Carol's ear. “Remember?”

It was all very similar to the other time she'd had Carol relaxed enough to gift her with a g-spot orgasm like she'd never experienced before. She could still remember that puzzled, sated, and ecstatic look on her face afterwards as Carol admitted she didn't even think she could do that. She also remembered walking around a little bit taller and incredibly pleased with herself the following day. Only she and Carol had known why.

“Right,” Carol sighed, grinding herself against Helen's almost still hand again. “Yeah. Oh god, okay.” It didn't take a genius to read that impatient signal and as Carol met her gaze, something sparked again, like this was the moment for them to really connect again after so, so much awful shit because, really, this was an exercise in trust more than anything else they'd done. It required intimacy, and observation, and passion, and love, and skill, all of which combined into a feeling of trust. Leaning down, Helen had to take a deep breath and rested her forehead softly against Carol's damp one and there was the smallest of whimpers. Two hands cupped her face and Helen closed her eyes, just revelling in the feeling for a moment as she slowly increased the pace and pressure and Carol's panting echoed it.

“Please,” she whispered, spreading her legs just a little more and pulling Helen down to the crook of her neck. The supple skin tasted of Carol and salt as she moved her lips slowly over her pulse point again and thrust and curled her fingers more quickly, right at that little rough spot she was certain no man had ever bothered to even look for.

It was a quirk of Carol specifically that had this requirement of closeness. There was always some point that she needed— _fiercely demanded_ a particular type of physical intimacy as if she had been starved her whole life from people who were actually present during sex with her. This was that point. It made fucking her a bit more awkward but she had no problem obliging such a simple need, pressing their bodies together, kissing slowly and deeply, straddling her thigh, all as Carol held her tightly. Usually she wasn't quite so intense; maybe months apart increased this need.

The heavy breaths in her ear grew more ragged as the blonde loosened her arms and allowed Helen to shift again, resuming her movement and mission to make Carol come as hard as possible. Fuck, she could feel pressure building up to a pleasurable ache between her own legs and moisture beginning to saturate her inner thighs the closer and closer Carol got.

Once she found the rhythm again, it didn't actually take long to reach the goal. Carol was moaning up a storm, thrusting her hips forward into Helen's hand and grabbing at whatever skin or hair she could reach. Her chest was flushed red and her thighs were trembling just enough to show Helen how close she was. A familiar mantra of “Oh god” and the word “fuck” came out unrestrained. Losing control, especially because of her, was the most beautiful thing to Helen.

With a few more deft strokes, Carol was writhing on the bed, gripping the bedsheets and screaming something unintelligible and then Helen felt the rush of hot wetness all over her hand as Carol came wildly around her fingers. God, it fucking felt amazing. She had to bite down on her own lip as Carol rode out the orgasm, trying to fight against her own burgeoning arousal.

“Holy shit...” Carol breathed out shakily, holding out her hand and watching the tremors. As she shifted in the bed, she made a face at the small puddle on the sheets and Helen laughed and moved up to softly kiss Carol's shoulder before lying down beside her. It took about a minute for Carol to even put together any further thoughts as she lay there staring at the ceiling with a ridiculous grin on her face, slowly allowing her stuttering breathing to even out.

Finally, she lolled her head to the side in order to meet Helen's smug gaze. The smile didn't fall. “Wow.”

Helen could only nod at first. “Yeah, _wow_.” She reached a somewhat tired arm out and eased the other woman into her embrace, allowing herself the simple pleasure of stroking her fingers through Carol's blonde hair. Having that soft weight sprawled over her and a leg thrown over her own was the most comforting feeling, and as Carol breathed slowly, a finger trailing absently over her the skin of Helen's stomach, she again wondered if this was what heaven was like. “You should probably let Beverly know...”

Carol shrugged, snuggling down against Helen's shoulder. “Meh. Can't move.”

Goddammit, she loved her bed.

 

 

 


	10. “Please don't hate me.”

The notes coming from the _Opposites_ team were driving her nuts and her eyes began to glaze over at the sheer idiocy being represented on the pages of emails. She absently twirled a piece of hair that had come loose from her messy bun around her finger for a moment, just staring at the wall of text. Without the Lincolns around, things were even worse. The only difference between this reading and the previous hundred times she'd had to sort through the mass of fucking bullshit Tim Whittick routinely churned out was that there was no lowkey throb of a budding migraine deep in her skull. Now, there could be many reasons for that but it was likely because for one thing, she had the pleasure of coming multiple times in the past 24 hours and that was certainly a stress reliever. More importantly however was the fact that there was nothing hanging over her head about Carol; she was happy and excited again, and relaxed in general. It made things such as chronic headaches that much less likely. With a resigned sigh, she hit 'Reply' and reached for the mug of coffee steaming away beside her. One-handed and lazily, she'd only got through the first few recipients names when the doorbell rang loudly, and a slosh of coffee spilled over the edge of her cup as she jumped.

Carol had left a few hours ago after eventually calling up Beverly and pushing the hike time back a bit more. They had agreed to get in touch on Sunday morning and arrange maybe a lunch date or... more likely, something a little more fun. Well, it didn't really matter because in all likelihood, they'd end up back at one of their houses no matter what the excursion. She dawdled to the door, her mind still stuck on that damn email.

“Hiya!” Without even waiting for an invitation, a grinning, breathless Carol bustled inside, still clad in the borrowed Lululemon clothes from Helen's drawer. As she brushed by, there was the faintest scent of sweat, sunshine, and her atrocious fake vanilla car air-freshener.

“Um, hi?” Helen muttered and followed Carol into the kitchen, propping her glasses up on top of her head. “Good hike?”

“Mm hmm.” The blonde had already snagged a glass from the cupboard and was pouring herself some water as if she owned the place. Part of Helen was ecstatic at the casual comfort that her girlfriend (maybe?) seemed to have already but there was another part of her that wondered what the hell was going on. They'd made no plans for the rest of the day at all but here she was, breezing back in and just helping herself to shit all over the place.

Carol chugged down half a glass before finally, placing it down on the counter top and glancing around. She saw Helen's laptop on the island and cocked her head to the side, squinting. “Working again?”

God, she looked good in that top. And those yoga pants. And just a glisten of dried sweat maybe. Fuck. “Uh, yeah... The network isn't going to fuck itself up.”

She made that silly face. “That bad?” It was something so distinctly Carol. The one where it was almost like she cared but also found it all a tiny bit humorous and also understood the pain. Carol was a complicated woman of many, many strange, almost imperceptible facades. She peered around and then down. “There's coffee on the floor.”

Helen just rolled her eyes and glanced down. Of course there was a mess. She'd thought she was a mess after breaking up with this woman; she appeared to be an even bigger mess now. Clumsy, forgetful. Distracted. Yeah, she was pretty goddamn distracted lately. The way Carol was moving towards her definitely didn't help keep her focus on things like the spilled coffee that was certainly making some sort of stain on her expensive hardwood floor. Her breath caught in her throat as the other woman moved in closer, a consternated look on her face.

“Busy?”

There was a low tone, a rumble to her voice as the blonde's hands slowly reached out and she trailed a finger lightly along her belt. What the fuck had they talked about on her hike? Carol was rarely so... flirty? Forward? Aggressive?

Yeah, her heart was beating a mile a minute at this point; her throat felt scratchy, dry. She swallowed once and then again, just to be sure. “It can wait.”

Carol tilted her head back just a little and licked her lips as she moved even closer. Her index finger slid behind the waistband of Helen's jeans, leaving a trail of heat and goosebumps in her wake until both hands came together, boldly undoing the button. There were a few seconds where Helen froze entirely except for the huge rise and fall of her chest. This was some new person in front of her and although she shared a lot of similarities with many versions of Carol she'd seen in the past, this was a new experience. Okay, it wasn't like Carol had never initiated anything before but this calm, this pure confidence, this sort of predatory (in the sexiest way possible, of course) gleam in her blue eyes, which had fallen to a darker shade, was all new.

With the speed and accuracy of a hawk strike, Helen lunged to close the small space between them, crushing their lips together as her hands gripped Carol's cheeks. Kissing her was a strange mixture of desperation, desire, joy, and relief. The way Carol kissed back, moaning with unabashed pleasure, spurned her on only briefly aware that the other woman's hands were wedged between their bodies but slowly pushing her jeans down, right there in the fucking kitchen. She needed to get more clothes off, right away. She tore her hands away from where they'd entwined with Carol's blonde hair and gripped the hem of her tank top, yanking it up without concern. It gave them both a chance to grab a few deep breaths and Helen had the opportunity to gaze at the flushed pink of Carol's chest, her freckles darker against her pale skin as her shoulders heaved.

This was the dream. This right here. As Carol shifted forward to pull away Helen's t-shirt, she managed to kick off her jeans alongside. What was the point of underwear anyway if it was just going to get soaked in a matter of minutes, with a rush each and every time kissed kissed her or moved her hands against hot, bare skin. Her fingers dug in to the soft flesh around Carol's hips, itching to remove those fucking yoga pants too.

A wet mouth moved down from her ear to her throat and Helen groaned out in bliss and a fair helping of frustration. The damn blue sports bra was really getting the way. “What the hell did you do on that hike?”

Carol giggled a little, lightly biting down on her clavicle. “Just talking,” she murmured, her breath warm against Helen's skin. The older woman bit down on her lip to avoid the way too pleasant shudder at the feeling. “About us.”

Helen leaned down and captured pink lips again, kissing her slightly harder than necessary, but fuck, she just couldn't seem to get enough. As they parting just minutely, she could almost feel the smile stretched out across Carol's face. “Remind me never to talk shit about Beverly again if this is how you come home afterwards.”

 _Shit, shit_. She said “home”. Her muscles tensed just enough to be uncomfortable but hopefully not enough to be noticeable to anyone else. It was one of Amie's so-called “disaster words” when used in the context of their new relationship. It implied something far too serious for the time being. Disaster words caused disasters, basically. And she just dropped a big pile of one straight on Carol's head.

But instead of the impending doomsday storm, Carol shrugged, resting her forehead against Helen's softly, running a hand up her side. Maybe she hadn't noticed. “I'm just _happy_.” She sighed, kissing her gently. “I didn't think I'd get this again. Beverly said—.”

This time Helen kissed her, interrupting whatever good advice Beverly definitely gave her because as much as she loved hearing these sorts of things, Carol started something else that really needed to be addressed more urgently. The talking could come after, especially as Carol's palms pressed against her breasts and her knees went a little weak.

A dream. It had to be. Her hands held Carol just a little tighter before she inevitably woke up and it was all gone.

 

* * *

 

Amie had called it the “danger zone”. The longer they knew each other, the more she seemed to have a very catastrophic point of view when it came to Helen's personal relationships. Between disaster words and danger zones, Helen felt like she was tiptoeing through some crappy action film most of the time when her sessions came to the forefront of her mind. Maybe part of the reason she still felt trapped on a precarious summit was because of this pressure. Every move she made, she had to consider what Amie would say, what Carol would do and feel, what could happen if it went wrong. Something about living her life in such a stressful way seemed to be in direct opposition to the whole point of therapy and it was wearing just a little on her nerves. The only time she really got to push everything from her mind was in bed, with Carol, naked and thoroughly occupied. The escape it gave her was like nothing else and if that was the only thing in life, she was pretty certain life would be perfect. Except that wasn't all life was.

They'd passed through the danger zone without a hitch, technically speaking. It was those first few weeks of the relationship where Helen had fucked it up so magnificently last time. She and Carol had made it through without any huge hiccups, without suggesting any puppies or co-housing or trinkets, without any breakdowns or fights. They didn't spend every night together which, in all honesty, was not Helen's favourite thing but she could live with it if it meant they had a healthier relationship overall. And they still didn't work together. She was almost there, and New York was basically onboard but the paperwork hadn't been drawn up yet and she certainly hadn't given it to Carol.

It was _slow_. Compared to every other relationship she'd ever had, this was a snail's pace but she could handle it if it meant having Carol in her life for as long as possible. She idly picked specs of lint off the cuff of her white blazer.

Except there was still something palpable but undefined lingering just on the outskirts of everything; it was uncomfortable, itchy, occasionally even made her doubt everyone else's advice about the relationship. It didn't feel great. Like waiting for something to just... fall. Comparatively speaking, it wasn't as hellish as being broken up but there was something really off about them. Sure, they were getting along so great, the sex was fucking amazing, everything felt comfortable and right and natural, and Carol was relaxed. Well, relaxed for her. But there was an edge. And Helen had no idea where or what it was.

Now that they'd graduated beyond the scariest part, she'd thought it would finally settle a bit more. Just enough to have that sense of security return. Amie hardly seemed as generous with hope, nor did any of her friends. Was it her that they all expected to fuck it up? Was it something else? Helen had no damn clue and it was really starting to irritate her during her day-to-day, non-Carol hours.

She sat at her desk, barely moving, staring intently at the open door and chewing on the end of her pen. Sure, there was probably work she was supposed to be doing but she was waiting for a knock, which should come any minute, and a perky blonde girlfriend to waltz through the door like she had last week, where they had astonishingly been able to keep their hands off each other for long enough to actually go for lunch.

“Hi, sweetie.” An incredibly high-pitched voice called out from around the doorframe and immediately Helen's dark cloud of uncertainty and discomfort dissipated.

“Hey, you.” It was actually amazing how quickly the smile dashed across her lips at the sight of Carol walking in, and looking fucking great to top it off. Uncharacteristically casual for Carol at the office in dark jeans, loose top, and a blazer, she exuded a sort of confidence and careless attitude that Helen really wasn't sure she'd seen very often. For not the first time by any stretch, she wondered how she'd even managed to snag such a beautiful, smart, caring woman. Especially one she'd hurt so badly in the past. It didn't seem real. There was a brief moment where she had to consciously breathe, stop herself from launching out of her seat and rushing over to kiss her girlfriend soundly in the middle of her open office.

With a calculated saunter, she met Carol halfway and placed a chaste enough kiss on her lips. Jesus, this was it. This was everything she needed.

Carol dangled her keys. “Ready to go?”

“Oh god, yes,” Helen groaned and grabbed her purse. That hint of impending doom crawled back just slightly as she walked with Carol out of her office. Something was still off. _Fuck_.

 

 

The wonderful thing about lunch with Carol, no matter what kind of day she was having, was that she could manage to block out so much of the bullshit from work, or therapy, or life in general and just enjoy the time with her alone. Especially if the food was tasty and the drinks strong. She was so fucking in love with this woman it was almost debilitating... and she still couldn't tell her. Not properly. Not again. That time in the bathroom was enough and although the words had been received well, Helen knew better than to push her luck on that front. Instead, she'd sit across from Carol at lunch and wait for the smiles and laughter and that glint in Carol's blue eyes that made her stomach do these little flip-flops and her heart flutter in that particular way she couldn't seem to replicate with anyone else. She'd hold her tongue and just hope that one day she could blurt it out again and not worry about any bad consequences. Instead, she twisted the few remaining rice noodles around her chopsticks and sucked them in, the broth having gone lukewarm a while ago.

As Carol sipped the last of her water, there was a shift in the air around the table, and she got that tight look that never bode well. Helen licked her lips, glancing around for the cause. She couldn't see any ex-lovers or coworkers or really, anything to make anybody uncomfortable. Finally Carol placed her chopsticks down carefully on the table, pushed aside her unfinished salad and a half-eaten spring roll and sighed.

Oh shit. If this was going to be what Helen suspected, she'd really rather just run away right now and ignore the whole thing. Carol was definitely going to suggest taking a break, slowing down to a stop really. A break-up. There was no such thing as taking a break.

A public place. A busy restaurant. Other industry folks no doubt scattered around the venue. A perfect place to tell someone bad news and ensure that they would not make an embarrassing scene.

“We need to talk.”

“Okay.” There were a lot of methods Helen normally employed in situations where she knew she was inevitably going to lose. And she'd honed them all to a fine skill. The problem stemmed from the fact they were basically all for business, for meetings, for deal making, for taking a verbal reaming for a job done poorly. As Carol sat there, quietly, fidgeting with her napkin, the tension grew thicker and Helen lost all ideas about how to handle this with any grace whatsoever.

She glanced around, leaned forward, and winced. Maybe it was in her head, but Helen thought she caught a glimpse of Carol's hands trembling as they clenched together. It was bad. It was really bad.

“I should have told you this way before.”

Again, Helen couldn't think of what to say. She couldn't figure out what Amie would say, or her kids, or her friends, or even her mother's ghost. Nobody was any fucking help. “Oh. 'Kay.”

_Just fucking spit it out already._

“Please don't hate me.”

“Hate you?” The idea was pure idiocy. Well, maybe in light of past events it may not seem very crazy because really, Helen had been the one to go berserk over an imaginary relationship that was entirely in her paranoid head. There was a terrible stinging in her chest when she realized Carol actually didn't know how different this time was compared to that messy disaster. All she wanted right now was to pull Carol close, kiss her, assure her that there wouldn't be any hate, no matter what. She knew what loathing and hating Carol felt like all too well and she'd be fucking damned to go through that hell again if she had a say in it. “We should get the cheque.”

Shaking her head adamantly, Carol squeezed her eyes closed and breathed in deeply.

“I slept with Merc!” The words came out as a chaotic jumble of high-pitched noises. Were those actual tears building in Carol's eyes too? It was hard to tell since she wouldn't look Helen in the face.

Of course the news hurt. It actually stung even more than Helen would have expected and her throat tightened, and heat began a slowburn behind her own eyes too. She blinked rapidly and cleared away any potential weakness. And then the anger took over, no matter how she attempted to quash it with rational, purposeful thoughts like Amie had tried to teach her. Her voice was low, irate. “When?” That was the real question. If it was last week, well, that was incredibly shitty. She may as well just walk out now. If it wasn't, well, then...

“Oh god,” Carol groaned, scrunching her face up. “I didn't want to tell you. I—Beverly told me I—Oh god.”

Her lips set into a firm line, unmoved by Carol's dramatic display of anxiety. “When?” Was that an actual growl? Probably. Her attitude definitely wasn't helping Carol out at all but fuck it. This was difficult for both of them and to be totally honest, Helen was sick of restraining every emotion she had just to stave off some possible freak out. Sometimes, she should get a chance to just be herself for once. Wow, she hadn't realized until this moment how much resentment had been building with all the headshrink exercises. Or maybe that was just the current anger and frustration talking. She wouldn't know for certain until it was over.

“You know...”

“No, I really don't.”

“Maybe you don't remember, that time when I saw you at Vincente.”

Ah, that day. What a fucking horrible day. How could anyone ever forget that?

“I remember.” She remembered the way seeing Carol had clenched her heart so hard she'd felt like she was having a heart attack. She remembered the rage coursing through her veins and how much she wanted to scream and smash something, anything, but Elliot was sitting across from her just blankly staring as if the whole episode was some kind of confusing Old Spice ad that he'd never seen before. She certainly remembered leaving work early to get drunk at a bar, so wasted that she didn't care when the cute blonde woman in the black dress turned her down for a pretentious-looking handlebar-moustached hipster asshole but she tried again with some other desperate woman and they'd sloppily fucked in the bathroom like disgusting college students, leaving her completely cold and unsatisfied. She didn't remember getting home afterwards but she did remember the hangover and the way she felt totally empty and lonely the next morning. So, yeah, she remembered that fucking day.

“I was a mess. I accidentally dialled him when trying to call Beverly and just... stuff happened.” She grimaced and finally met Helen's hard, dispassionate stare. “For like a week.”

It probably should hurt as much as it did. She could have handled any number of one night stands, or shitty rebound fucks. In all fairness, she'd had her fair share of those so judgment wasn't exactly fair. But Merc fucking Lapidus? Again? That really, really fucking hurt in a way Castor, or even goddamn Ed, wouldn't have. And Ed was the father of her children, for Christ's sake. Out of every man in the world, Carol had to resort to that lump of crusty, bloated fuckwad who was so insanely below what she deserved that it almost made Helen physically ill to think about how low Carol must have been.

Maybe that's what really bothered her the most when it came down to it because it wasn't just the sex with that sweating, balding collection of ageing fartgas. It was the way he treated her; the way she didn't think she could get better than him. That whatever comfort and intimacy she was seeking had such low standards that even that fucking unworthy imbecile could meet them.

Not to mention...

“What do you mean? Wasn't he...?”

Carol rolled her eyes, her posture slumping just a little as she saw Helen wasn't throwing a fit. “Engaged again? Yeah.” There was a quiet tone to her voice that made it clear Carol would never, ever fall for Merc's bullshit again—no matter what. “Stupid me, right?”

Helen couldn't help shrugging. “Well, yeah. It's Merc. He's scum wrapped in up like a mouldy sausage.”

Silence fell over them for a moment until Carol sighed again, concern still on her face but no longer looking as if she was about to burst into tears any second. “Oh, I'm glad I told you. I've been holding onto that for so long! I was so worried.”

She wasn't getting off that easily. Really, it had been none of Helen's business who Carol fucked when they weren't together but she felt that if Carol was going to tell her, it should have happened a lot earlier. Especially if it was Merc. Fuck, she hated him. Everything about this current situation made her angry or depressed or upset or guilty or some mixed up combination of all the above. Shit, she really wanted to talk to Amie right now before she blurted out something hurtful and wrong. “I don't know why you even did.”

The edge was obvious in her voice and the blonde stiffened again and waved the server over, motioning for the check. “Well... Anyway.”

Without saying anything else, or even really looking at Carol, she gathered her phone, jacket and purse and took one last long gulp of her drink as her girlfriend settled the bill. She really should have taken it but something about the news and the relentless stinging pain inside made her ignore good sense. She was a few steps ahead of Carol on the way out until she remembered that Carol had driven them both here and there would be no easy escape.

Holy crap. This was their first fight. Or whatever it was. Maybe last. These days she never knew how much their relationship would be able to take because normal, functional adults fought and forgave and got over it but Carol's constant threat-level-red anxiety seemed to change those rules. And it was probably really unfair to hang all the blame for it on Carol's shoulders when in reality she'd done nothing wrong. Helen just hated herself too much, and there was probably only one person to blame for why Carol had been so damn miserable that day. One reason that she'd resorted to seeking comfort from a filthy cumstain who would only bring her even more heartbreak and brutally stomp out any flicker of self-esteem. Probably? Ha! Certainly. Helen knew exactly who was to blame and it made her see red and want to puke in equal measure for everything she'd done.

As they made their way down West 3rd to the car, Carol moved closer, seeming to brush against Helen purposefully. “So, do you hate me now?”

Helen stopped, huffed loudly and gazed at the blue sky for a moment. Then, without warning, pulled Carol into her arms. “Of course I don't hate you,” she whispered into the shell of her ear, finding it far easier than she expected to tell the truth. With those words, she could feel the younger woman's whole demeanour soften and two strong arms encircled her waist. “If sleeping with Merc was reason enough to hate you, especially for 5 years, obviously I wouldn't have fallen in love with you in the first place.”

Oh, no. Not again. _Oh, great, Helen, you dumb fucking bitch_. _You really fucking did it again, didn't you?_

In a matter of seconds, her resting heart rate had gone from a relaxed thump to a frantic, cardiac arrest-level drum roll. There would probably be a time where she didn't constantly put her foot in it and blurt out her love to possibly unreceptive parties but at this rate, she wasn't sure when that day would come. It had been bad enough the Kitzmann toilets. Now she was just in the middle of the sidewalk, professing her most vulnerable feelings to a woman who not more than 10 minutes ago thought their relationship may be actually over because of a stupid, rebound fling with a bent penis attached to a repulsive ball of human sludge. Yeah. That's how fragile this whole thing was.

And then, Helen went and brought it to perhaps another terrifying level. Her shrink really should have extended the danger zone guidelines, just to be on the safe side. She immediately pulled back, refused to meet Carol's imploring stare, and started walking again, trying to bring a sense of normalcy back into the nosedive of a conversation. Carol caught up to her with a small skip and slid her hand into the crook of Helen's elbow, linking their arms in one smooth move. Her fingers squeezed tightly and when the older woman looked over, Carol was staring straight away with a silly, close-lipped grin on her face. She wasn't in the middle of a tragic meltdown, or a freak out, or even a run-of-the-mill panic attack. God, she could just fucking kiss her. Hard. Right here. In the middle of a Los Angeles street.

But she didn't. Instead, she sighed and gazed at her girlfriend—yes, _her_ girlfriend—for a little longer than was probably normal for an adult as they walked. She knew Carol likely felt the stare but kept that goddamn adorable look on her face and lead them to the car.

For some reason, neither of them felt like saying anything more but it was fine, and comfortable, just like that.

It felt like a turning point.

Finally.

 


	11. “Forever, whenever that will be.”

“I'm going to ask her to marry me.”

A pause. “Helen.” There was a low tone of warning in the simple name. Amie shifted in her seat, staring impassively at her client and then scribbling something quickly in her blue notebook. The older woman leaned back, crossed her arms over her chest, and set her mouth into a determined frown, anything to bite down on the smile that was tugging at her lips. It was the same damn grin that she'd had plastered on her face for what felt like days.

“Why?”

With a shrug, Helen sighed. She had a whole host of reasons, probably. None of them seemed to be forming properly in her mind and she chewed on the inside of her cheek instead.

Amie was unimpressed with the silence. “You know when we talked about disaster words? What do you think will happen if you use these ones specifically?”

Of course she'd thought about the potentialities but she hadn't determined what the ultimate result would be. Some days Carol seemed on cloud nine and nothing could possibly go wrong, and then other days there were still a few flashes of nerves and fear about long-term commitment. It was those moments when she knew she couldn't actually give in to the impulse but there was a part of her that enjoyed the fantasy that maybe some day, she could say the words and they'd be welcomed, that Carol would be enthusiastic and giddy and say yes with no hesitation or anxiety. She wanted nothing but happiness and until there was that guarantee, Helen knew she'd have to hold her tongue and push down every impulse into that hard lump growing in her gut.

“I'd be back in the danger zone.” She ground the words out between clenched teeth because, honestly? She was getting a little sick of these kitschy little buzz words that seemed to be defining her life as of late. There was something really disheartening about being constantly reminded that almost everything you thought about doing could have a cataclysmic outcome, very easily, like she was some sort of inevitably self-destructive being.

Then when she stepped out of the shrink bubble and was actually around Carol, talking to her, working with her, touching her, listening to her, all of that shit seemed to melt away like it was all just imaginary emergency management planning, like the pages in the front of old telephone books near nuclear power plants that laid out what to do if their was a failure. Sure, everybody sort of knew the issues but in reality, they weren't all that necessary—especially since if it came down to it, you'd be pretty fucked regardless of what a telephone book told you once. Same applied to Carol. If Helen did something wrong, it's not like any number of hazard warning words would actually make a difference. If it was going to happen, eventually it would. If it wasn't going to happen, it was an awful lot of wasted energy and excessive stress about a grossly pessimistic worst case scenario.

Maybe Carol wasn't really as fragile and neurotic as they all believed. Maybe Helen wasn't as horrible and damaged as her shrink thought. Maybe they both needed a little bit of credit.

And that was where this newfound urge to spew out a proposal seemed to stem from. 99% of the time, they were healthy, even if they were arguing—which in all truth, didn't happen nearly as much as it used to in other relationships. Mostly because, okay, Amie had helped a lot in the whole conflict resolution, or conflict avoidance arena. Basically, the idea of honest communication without anger made all the difference, both in avoiding angry blow-ups and encouraging Carol to actually speak up instead of holding everything inside until it exploded. And Helen found that the longer she worked on her own shit, the easier and more natural it became to handle things in a healthy way. Like breaking a bad habit and replacing it with good ones. So, she saw Amie less and talked with Carol more.

 

It felt amazing. The entire relationship felt real, and serious, and... like something that she could do forever. She often now thought about that incident only a few nights prior when she woke at 4 AM in a vaguely unfamiliar bed (also known as Carol's) after a particularly horrifying but indeterminate nightmare, breathing heavily and shaking just a bit. The darkness was only broken by a glowing phone charging on the nightstand, outlining the silhouette of a person next to her. With a relieved sigh, her heart rate began slowing and she curled up to the warm body clad only in one of Helen's own t-shirts. Carol wiggled a little, pushing herself back into Helen's embrace before she seemed to come to herself.

Within moments, the groggy woman had rolled over, gently touching her face and her voice thick with sleep as she asked if everything was okay. She remembered admitting to the bad dream, something the Helen of yesteryear never would have dared and Carol let out a tiny coo of concern, running a finger over her cheek and placing a soft kiss against her lips. And then, in what Helen would probably take to her deathbed even if she forgot everything else in her life, those little words escaped. Just three. Drowsily and quietly but there was no mistaking them, or the earnest tone. Every single nerve in her body had responded to the sound with fervour.

At first, Helen thought she was still in the dream. It seemed like odd timing, and not at all expected. Like a part of a surrealist play where she was trapped in the nightmare drug-trip sequence with melting clocks, animals with six ears and a God-figure speaking in pig latin. But as she had blinked in the dark, nothing changed. Carol was still there, touching her softly with the scent of her face cream and fabric softener filling the air. They had work the next day, but Helen had moved forwards, kissing her deeply, roughly whispering ' _I love you too_ ' against her mouth and groaned as the blonde moved against her.

That was the night Helen realized that there was basically no way she could allow herself to fuck this up again.

 

“So, why do you want to risk that?”

Amie's voice was softer now, concerned and maybe she was on Helen's side after all. Even so, there was a sort of defensiveness that bubbled to the surface as petulance. “I never said I was going to do it tomorrow.” She was a fucking president of a national television network. She didn't take stupid risks. Well, except that fucking alien show. And Whittick running _Opposite_. Forcing Carol out. And, okay, sure, there were a few bad decisions in her time at the helm but generally speaking, she wasn't one to just jump into a bad situation without considering the outcomes, both positive and negative.

“Okay, so if not tomorrow, did you have a plan for when?”

“Plan? No.” She really didn't. “It's more like... a daydream. At this point.”

Her shrink tapped her pen against her palm, pale blue eyes focused intently on Helen for a long moment, head cocked to the side. It caused the little hairs on the back of her neck to stand up just a little, as if any minute there was going to be a heap of bad news thrown at her from the therapist-child across from her.

She waited, her pulse growing quicker with every passing moment of silence. Growing bored of staring back at Amie, challenging her to say something else, Helen's thoughts moved to the whys of her current situation. Why did she think Carol would even be in to the idea at any point _ever_ when all evidence and history would suggest the opposite? Was she just a resident in yet another delusional state, only this one was imaginary sunshine and rainbows where the last one was jealousy and insecurity? Was this just another desperate result of the abandonment issues Amie had so eloquently explained to her? Why did she have such ridiculous flights of fancy about a relationship that honestly was only a few months old?

 

And then she remembered walking into Carol's office last week to grab the numbers for the ad ops budget and noticing something slightly off. The office had been set up to exactly how Carol had left it but there was a feeling of newness, something unsettling almost because she couldn't quite put her finger on it. She paused, glanced down at Carol on the phone, and then around the room. For a second, she distracted herself by flipping through the stack of outgoing briefs on her desk, looking for the spreadsheets that initially had been her intention but stopped when it was obvious they weren't there yet. Carol held up a finger as she pressed the phone to her and hummed noncommittally to the person on the other end, idly shuffling through another stack of papers.

Then Helen spotted it. Up there on the bookcase along with all the old photos of roses, landscapes, and the wedding photo of her grandparents was a new frame, with a new picture. A flush swept up to her cheeks and that hint of lightheadedness threatened to overtake her senses. It was hard to tell exactly what the photo meant, especially to someone who just happened to pop into Carol's office but Helen knew; she recognized the day and time and place. She knew how she felt when it was taken. She knew how Carol's laughter twinkled around them before and after, the way the sunlight glinted off her blonde hair in the falling twilight, the way her hand gripped tightly around Helen's waist, and how she'd kissed her moments later. Of course, none of that could be seen. She knew how it was her daughter's Samoyed, Bruce, sitting there with them that weekend Helen had agreed to take care of him when Lauren took a roadtrip to Portland with friends, and how Carol had played with him for 3 hours straight, how giddy she had been even if she claimed she'd never been a dog person.

She knew it was Beverly Lincoln behind the iPhone on that hike with them. Sure, it could look like a strange boss/employee photo but really, everyone knew it wasn't. Probably. They looked like a goddamn happy family: Her, Carol, and that big white dog in the golden hour of afternoon in Griffith Park.

 

That's why. That right there. All the emotions that were secretly in that photo, the fact that photo even existed. It wasn't about abandonment, or insecurity, or jealousy, or any other negatively-charged jargon or destructive behaviour Amie could imagine.

Sure, they still had two houses, although Carol rarely now spent much time at her own place anymore and all her important stuff had slowly, magically migrated over and lay scattered all over Helen's house. They drove separate cars to work sometimes still (it only made sense, really.) but they each had each other's extra set of keys for those days when a lunch meeting popped up and they had come together. Carol's house keys also dangled from her keychain, and visa versa. As she sat in this stupid therapist's office, Carol was at work, wearing a pair of Helen's favourite Rossi pumps that seemed to magically fit her even better. Her homescreen on her phone was a stupid selfie of the two of them.

They were all little things really that on their own didn't necessarily mean much. But when she combined it all together, and with the way they laughed at each other's stupid jokes, shared plates of food, snuggled together in bed watching the network dailies and screeners, kissed softly sometimes and hard others, it all added up to something that felt like the complete package.

Amie knew a lot of this already but she'd never knew exactly how it felt to wake up next to Carol after so much shit in the past, or how it felt to come back to the office after a crappy meeting and see her working diligently in her office with the tip of her tongue stuck out in deep thought. She'd never understand how Helen's heart would race, even now, with a simple touch on the arm or how watching Carol crawl into bed next to her, clad only in a t-shirt and with her hair in that stupid fucking scrunchie made absolutely every shitty thing fade into the ether.

She was head over fucking heels in love with Carol and she'd even throw away her goddamn fancy job if it meant getting to spend the rest of her life just like it was at the moment.

“So, it's not a pressing issue then.” Amie finally asked as she primly folded her hands on her notebook.

Jolted out of her daydreaming, Helen looked hard at the shrink. “No. But she makes my life better just by being in it and I want the same for her. Forever, whenever that will be.” Something on Amie's face seemed to melt a little and her eyes betrayed what was possibly a form of soft emotion rarely seen on the indifferent visage.

“Has she ever reciprocated this—”

“Of course,” Helen interrupted briskly. In fact, she'd said just about as much as they had been lying in bed one evening, naked, with skin cooling and their breathing slowing. Amie didn't need to know the intimacies like that. Really, Helen didn't want to share them at all. With anyone. Ever. What Carol hoarsely murmured to her in those moments wasn't for anyone else's ears; those memories weren't for storage as an absently scrawled note in a psychotherapist's file.

A tight-lipped smile peeked out from Amie's normally impassive face. “Well, then patience, right?”

Helen nodded, feeling a pressure coming off her chest. It had slowly been lifting for weeks, inch by inch with every smile she brought out of Carol, with each touch, and the quiet moments they spent together. And she realized right about the same time as Carol whispered those 3 words earnestly in her ear that heaven looked really fucking similar to her life. Maybe it had taken a while, but all it took was to keep going, to keep pushing, and more importantly: giving in when needed. So, of course, it had been a slow journey but hell was no place to stop.

 

 


End file.
